Chance
by Nyxicillin
Summary: Nine years had been long enough for Yuri to get used to the Abbey, to learn how to ignore the pain around him, to recognise when to keep his head down and stay quiet. Long enough to know that his loss at the Championships had thrown more than just his own life into limbo. But when an offer of help comes from the most unexpected source, Yuri decides to take a risk. [chp 16 up!]
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** Beyblade is copyright Takao Aoki. I own nothing and am simply using his characters for fun.

**Warnings:** Angst, violence, abuse.

**Note:** Neoborg (Demo Boys) friendship / Abbey fic. Using original names because I don't think 'Tala' is a typical Russian first name :)

* * *

It wasn't the sound of the crowd that roused Yuri from his thoughts, wasn't the elated cries of fans or Takao's teammates, it wasn't even the boy's warm hand or his beaming grin. No, catching sight of Wolborg from the corner of his eye, lying prone at the bottom of the dish, scratched, cracked and _defeated_, was all it took to send Yuri's world crashing down around him.

He realised he'd lost.

Almost instantly, as he was trained to do, Yuri replayed the last three rounds in his mind, even as Takao Kinomiya, the winner, shook his hand and spoke to him – _at_ him – Yuri was already elsewhere. He reviewed the match set from the very start, analysing each and every second of his performance critically and without restraint to find out exactly what he'd done wrong, for surely it must have been his mistake, a miscalculation, an error in timing or hesitation in a vital moment perhaps. There was no other explanation for the result; Valkov wouldn't _accept_ any other explanation.

Somewhere between the second round finishing and the start of the third and final round – the deciding battle – Yuri's mind went completely and utterly blank. As if someone had been recording the match and had run out of tape. Nothing. No sight, no sound, even the faint scent of burning as Wolborg's metal tip scored lines into the dish during speed changes, a scent he'd become so accustomed to during training, was entirely non-existent. He racked his memory for something, _anything_ that explained what the hell had happened to him in that space of time between resetting his launcher and shaking Takao's hand.

He found nothing but pitch black emptiness, as if his own mind had betrayed him.

Glancing up at the wallboard, he wondered if it was possible he'd just misinterpreted the entire situation. Whether the crowd cheered from excitement, not congratulations. Whether Takao shook his hand in anticipation, not gratitude. Whether he was actually stood by the side of the dish preparing to enter the third match and destroy his opponent, as per his orders, not standing in the presence of the new champion. The numbers on the wallboard confirmed that out of desperation Yuri was only letting his imagination get the better of him. His image sneered down at him and laughed at the score sheet.

Yuri made his way back to the dugout where Sergei was stood. He wasn't entirely sure how he even made it down the few steps from the dish, felt like he was sliding on broken legs over dangerously thin ice, threatening to crack and swallow him into the freezing water at any second.

Sergei spared him a brief, pitiful glance, which Yuri wanted to shake off but it stayed with him, suffocating. From the darkness of the tunnel that now seemed miles away, Valkov's eyes glared at him – _through_ him – as if the man could barely bring himself to look upon the weak, useless, pathetic shred of a soldier he'd become.

Disgust rose as bile in his throat and he felt physically sick – he wasn't ill, hadn't been ill once during his time at the Abbey – but somehow he felt being able to throw up what little he had managed to eat before the finals would make him feel immensely better about his failure. As if clearing his stomach would clear his entire body of the anger and dread that mingled there.

Dread was something he had grown to understand, to live with and work around and _ignore_ as if it were nothing more than an irritating itch. But now, as hands grabbed him roughly by his shoulders and shoved him through a closed door, using his own _body_ to force it open, Yuri lost the mental strength to push the dread away.

"Despicable, worthless, _unacceptable_…"

Yuri bowed his head, blocked out the sound of Valkov's furious tirade and focused on a smear of dirt across one of his boots. He'd heard it all before, not usually aimed at him, true, but the more often you heard it, the easier it became to phase out.

"I expected it of that reckless fool who battled second, but not of _you_, Ivanov." Yuri dared to glance up, got as far as Valkov's knees and faltered. No doubt he was referring to Boris, and Yuri suddenly remembered – how could he forget? – he hadn't seen where his unconscious teammate had been taken after his match.

"Do you have _anything_ to say to defend your pathetic performance, boy?"

"No, sir." The expected response, Yuri knew better than to dare speak anything else. Yes sir, no sir, whatever you say _sir_. He wanted to ask about Boris, but there was a time and a place, and neither were when you stood in the firing line of Valkov's anger.

"Very well." He saw Valkov raise a gloved hand and signal to the nameless guard behind him, and the same rough hands that had thrown him into the room dragged him back out. Yuri caught a glance of Valkov's profile just before the door slammed shut, unsurprisingly, he looked completely enraged.

He was marched through corridors almost faster than he could keep up, stumbling over his own feet on more than one occasion, and he so desperately wanted to act on the anger bubbling under his skin, wanted to lash out at the hands that held him, at the face of the man that _dared_ to push him around. But he wouldn't – _couldn't_ – because to do so would only risk making his punishment worse and jeopardise his chance of seeing Boris when he returned to the Abbey.

Yuri could still hear the chants of praise and joy when he finally made it up to the rooftop of the stadium, and he wished he could spend just a second standing by the edge, looking down on the crowd that had surely gathered there to congratulate Takao and his team, and share in just the tiniest glimpse of their happiness. He wondered whether they knew just what the result meant for the Neoborg team, wondered whether Kai had told them.

The mere thought stung his heart as it regurgitated the short-lived memory of Kai returning to the Abbey, before he betrayed them and returned to his old team. The team he had betrayed in the first place. He barely knew Kai, before the championship he had only seen him briefly the few times Valkov had elected to take him to see the Director, Kai's grandfather, with the aim of showing off his latest success.

Kai had seemed shy, meek even, at first glance anyway, but there was a fire and a sense of determination in the boy's eyes that Yuri recognised and respected almost instantly. Not once had he pinned Kai as a traitor, until now. But if the rumours were true, that Kai had ended up with amnesia following the short time he had spent at the Abbey as a child under Valkov's regime, then perhaps that explained his actions. Yuri suspected that Kai must have suffered an overwhelming burst of old memories that left him confused, mistaking the Abbey for home once again and forgetting that he really didn't belong there. Not with them. Not anymore.

Sergei was already in the helicopter when Yuri approached it, strapped in and ready to go like the good little soldier he was. His face was as blank as ever, and he offered Yuri nothing in the way of greeting. Not even the slightest glance.

"Seriy…" The name slipped from Yuri's mouth before he could help himself, suddenly desperate for _something_ in the way of comfort from the other boy. But he shouldn't have said a word, realising his stupid mistake only too late.

He gasped, biting down firmly on his lip to stop himself from making any other noise as sharp pain reverberated from his shoulder all the way to his toes. The metal baton in the guard's merciless hands slammed down again over the same spot, bone crunched beneath his skin and Yuri's knees buckled. He crashed to the floor, one hand clasped over his throbbing shoulder, the other still twisted in the material of the chair beside him – fingers clenched so tightly that he felt his nails tear against the fabric. Yuri squeezed his eyes shut against stinging tears, allowing himself only a shuddering breath once he'd heard the guard's footsteps back off and the door shut with a whoosh behind him.

The sound of the helicopter's blades starting up sounded muted in his ears, lost amid the erratic pounding of his heartbeat as he struggled to catch his breath. Wordlessly, Sergei unclipped his belt and shifted to the aisle seat, reaching out with calloused hands to brush Yuri's tangled hair back from his forehead.

"Get up." Sergei demanded, gentler than Yuri expected but still leaving little room for argument. "_Move_, Yura."

He did as he was asked, wincing as the sudden rock of the helicopter jostled his left arm and the pain sparked up again. His entire arm was gradually becoming numb, for which he was thankful, though he could already imagine the bruising that would surely form over his skin.

"Where's Borya?" He asked quietly, knowing that Sergei would pick up on the words he couldn't bring himself to speak.

Sergei led him a few rows back, it wouldn't do for him to be seen sitting anywhere near a failure such as Yuri after all, and carefully lowered him to sit in a chair, pulling his belt over and locking it into place. "Haven't seen him since."

Yuri nodded, he didn't need to hear anything else. Boris would already be back at the Abbey, suffering for his irresponsible loss. Questions burned in Yuri's mind, overpowering the pain just for a moment. "Did you see what happened? His match, he-"

"I know." Sergei said nothing else, merely returned to his seat and didn't look back.

He'd only said two words, but it was all Yuri needed to confirm that Sergei had seen the exact same thing as he had and relight the simmering dread in his gut; Boris had deliberately thrown his match against Rei Kon.

* * *

It begins…


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** Beyblade is copyright Takao Aoki. I own nothing and am simply using his characters for fun.

**Warnings:** Angst, violence, abuse.

**Note:** Quick thanks to all readers/reviewers so far! :)

* * *

Six days.

Six days since the championship finals, six days since he'd spent the longest and coldest nights of his life locked in a dark isolation cell, staring out at the stars through a small barred window. Six whole days since he'd seen Boris' limp, bleeding and half-conscious form carried away from him on his third forced march down to the cell.

Boris had lifted his head a minute fraction, just enough to stare up at Yuri through the eye that wasn't swollen shut. Yuri hadn't been able to work out whatever they boy was trying to convey through that single glance, only able to focus on the fact that they hadn't gone easy on him, until a sharp pain seared across his shoulders and he was ordered to look away. If anything, he'd sincerely doubted that Boris would be up and moving any time soon.

Valkov spent hours upon hours shouting vile curses in his ear, insulting and humiliating him as if Yuri alone were the cause of every single misery in the world. Shoving him to the ground only to yank him back up, crushing him with the wicked metal baton, blow upon blow that left Yuri's body feeling stiff and numb until he collapsed to his knees. Every attack was an attempt to draw a cry or a shout of pain from him, but Yuri was determined not to allow Valkov the pleasure.

Yuri was surprised, shocked even, when the violence suddenly stopped just as quickly as it had come and he was escorted swiftly and silently back to his room, door slamming behind him. He sat awake for the entire night, knees pulled against his chest under sheets that did nothing to protect him from the cold, nursing his wounds with a damp towel.

It didn't make sense – Boris had lost his match as well, and his punishment had brought him to the very brink of exhaustion and flung him over the edge. In comparison, Yuri had been scolded like a child and let off with barely a mark.

The memory, or lack thereof, of the third round in the finals plagued him almost constantly, both in every waking moment and in his nightmares. Perhaps Valkov had seen that his loss hadn't been deliberate, saving him from the same fate Boris had suffered? Yuri refused to believe that his previous position as Valkov's favourite had any influence on the reduced punishment; the very second Valkov realised that his ridiculous ambitions were lost thanks to him, Yuri was sure that his standing had faded to nothing.

But life continued as if nothing had happened, just as it always had. Training was just as regular, just as intense, and Yuri was still booked for sessions that lasted well over five hours stood in front of automated beyblade launchers, firing Wolborg again and again, over and over, ignoring the way his shoulder and his battered ribs protested against the constant movement and begged for rest.

Shrapnel flew from the dish, scratched at his face and hands and clung to his clothes, but he kept going. To give up would only incite Valkov's wrath once again, and Yuri couldn't afford to be locked away when Boris was finally allowed his freedom. He was allowed for meals only at set times and only _for_ a set time, his schedule ran from dawn to dusk, every second accounted for with scarcely a spare moment to breathe. When he was unable to train with his blade, he was forced on a punishing circuit around the gymnasium, when he wasn't allowed _there_, he underwent medical after medical in the labs. But he kept going. It was as difficult as any of the vigorous training regimes Valkov had submitted him to in the past.

He'd managed it before, knew he could manage it again.

Over a week since he'd last seen his friend, Yuri had started to wonder whether he would ever be seeing Boris' face again. Any other boy in the Abbey would be kicked out the very second they failed to hit a target or meet Biovolt's demanding standards. Boris' failure, the way he'd taken the result of the match into his own hands, made his own decision and acted as _he_ wanted, was worse than merely failing to reach a set target. _Much_ worse. Yuri barely managed to sleep at night, steadily becoming more and more worried that Boris would end up as another forgotten face in the endless sea of new recruits and disappearing outcasts, nothing more.

One dark morning, when Yuri was so overwhelmed with fear for Boris' life that he was suffocating under it, Boris finally appeared again. Yuri was so elated to see him that he very nearly forgot himself and jumped up from his seat with joy.

Sergei sat down first, taking the seat next to Boris' usual spot, and set down his own tray as well as Boris'. Yuri found it odd, until in the fluorescent lights that hung above them, he took a long, painful look at Boris himself and had to tear his eyes away. He looked no livelier than a _corpse_.

Yuri was hit by a sudden realisation that made his heart drop to his stomach, his previous happiness shattered, and he prayed to whoever would listen that he was wrong. After nine torturous years, it looked as if Boris had finally been broken.

Every inch of his sallow skin was decorated with poorly healing cuts, dirty scratches and dark, blotchy bruises. He held his right arm close to his side; hand zipped into his jacket pocket in the closest he could get to a make-shift sling. His left hand rested on the table, and it was clear to Yuri that Boris had put up a struggle, knuckles red-raw and cracked. Boris swallowed thickly, seeming to find it hard to force his throat into action, and even with his jacket zipped up to his chin, Yuri could spot the edges of bruising there as well.

He made the mistake of catching Boris' fleeting glance, his own breath hitching when he failed to spot the fire – the _anger_ – he was so used to seeing, staring only into dull green eyes that he refused to believe belonged to his friend. It was all so _wrong_. Boris was a fighter, had been since the moment he stepped into the Abbey, he questioned authority at every turn, spoke his mind even when he should have been silent, and refused to back down even when the odds were undeniably stacked against him.

Perhaps that was the problem; if only he had surrendered, just this once, perhaps he wouldn't have suffered so badly.

"Hello Borya." Yuri tried quietly, hoping the sound of a familiar voice would make Boris lift his head. It didn't work.

"I wouldn't bother. He hasn't spoken since they brought him back." Sergei's voice was flat, indifferent, and Yuri wanted to read more into it but found nothing. Sergei had taught himself a long time ago to be unaffected by even the most severe of punishments in the Abbey – keep your head down and ignore it and you kept yourself out of trouble – something Yuri had never quite mastered.

He gazed over Boris' hunched form again. "When?"

"Two nights ago." Sergei said simply, picking around in his bowl with his spoon and only eating small mouthfuls. Boris hadn't even moved his hands to his tray yet. "Danil came to get me in the middle of the night – he thought Boris had died on his bunk."

Danil had been moved into Boris' room just a few months ago, but after only days Boris had become immensely irritated by him and was itching for the chance to get rid just as Danil was praying to swap rooms with _anyone_ else. Yuri was thankful Danil at least had the common sense to stay awake long enough to check Boris was still breathing.

"Has he been for a medical?" Yuri asked, unable to take his eyes off his friend and finding it strange to be talking about him as if he wasn't even there.

Sergei nodded. "They gave him a code four and patched up the worst of it."

Code four meant no broken bone, but certainly not fit for full training. Not that Valkov cared, training only stopped when the diagnosis was two or lower; breaks and fractures that required a cast, or a potential fatality, and at code zero it didn't matter either way. A shiver rattled through Yuri's spine.

He wanted to ask what the hell Boris had been thinking when he'd stepped up to the dish and made one of the most reckless decisions of his life. Surely the boy knew what the end result would be – he may have been beaten but he was lucky to still be in the Abbey and not trapped outside in the snow. He wanted to ask why Boris hadn't even thought to _mention_ the idea before, if only so Yuri could have tried to talk him out of it.

Anger surged through him, unwanted and unnecessary, and Yuri struggled to force it away. He didn't get the chance to say another word though, as Boris suddenly got to his feet and limped his way across the hall to a door that led to toilet cubicles. His food was untouched, leading Yuri to wonder how often he'd been allowed the chance to eat since his return.

Sergei sighed, closed his eyes, and ran a shaky hand through his hair before blankness fell over his face yet again. It was rare enough for Sergei to show such an obvious sign of concern in the first place, rarer still to show it in public, and it only set the niggling worry in Yuri's gut alight.

The intercom crackled and spat noise before barking that Yuri was to return to the training centre immediately. He sighed, cast one final longing glance at the door Boris still hadn't returned from, and stood up.

"I'll look out for him, Yura."

Sergei's voice, in a rare, gentle tone Yuri hadn't heard for so long now, caught him off-guard and he stumbled in pulling his leg over the bench seat. Sergei held his gaze for a long, searching moment, and Yuri only looked away once he was certain he saw nothing but pure, honest concern in Sergei's eyes. He nodded once, conveying only a simple acceptance of Sergei's promise, and left without another word.

But as strong as Sergei was, and as capable as he was of picking them up when they fell, Yuri was only too aware that Sergei couldn't protect them from _everything_.

* * *

End chapter two... Might need to up the rating?


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** Beyblade is copyright Takao Aoki. I own nothing and am simply using his characters for fun.

**Warnings:** Angst, violence, abuse.

**Note:** Enter the 'help'.

* * *

Yuri first noticed something odd was going on when he was sat picking at his lunch in the food hall.

Hushed whispers and murmured voices filtered through the air behind him, stopping all too suddenly when he turned around. Every now and then he would witness an exchange of _something_, hidden under trays and in between unnecessary handshakes but far too quick for him to tell exactly what it was, leading him to wonder whether he had actually started to go mad in his exhaustion.

It wasn't until Vasily, one of the older boys and Sergei's roommate, very deliberately pushed a towel to his chest in the communal shower one morning and told him to 'keep quiet and act normal', that Yuri realised _he_ was at the heart of all the secrecy spreading around the Abbey.

Forcing himself to carry on walking back to the bench he'd dumped his clothes on without showing any sign of nervousness was a lot more difficult than anticipated, though nobody seemed to take any notice, and Yuri carefully felt through the towel before he unfolded it.

His fingers came across the edge of a folded sheet of paper – an envelope, to be exact – and he caught Vasily's eye across the room. The boy mimicked slipping his hand into the inside of his coat, covering the action by scratching at an imaginary itch, and without really thinking too much on it, Yuri quickly shook out his coat and managed to slide the envelope though a tear in the lining without catching any unwanted attention.

The letter burned against his side for the remainder of the day, distracting him from his training to the point that the technician working with him called it off after only three hours. A stray beyblade from the automatic launcher had caught Yuri just above the knee, leaving a hole in his trousers and a scratch that drew blood, but he only noticed after it was pointed out to him.

His mind spun endlessly around thoughts on who could have even wanted to write to him, let alone manage to sneak the letter past the Abbey's almost impenetrable security. He was thankful that Valkov seemed to have disappeared, apparently called to a conference with the Director in Saint Petersburg, and after pretending to collapse from exhaustion – if he'd learnt _anything_ from the Abbey it was how to put on an act – he was able to get away from the gymnasium an hour earlier than usual.

When he was back in his room, Yuri folded himself tightly in his sheets and huddled underneath the window with his back to the wall, moonlight reflecting off the tattered envelope gripped too tightly in his hands.

Yuri spared another glance at the closed door opposite him, fear slowly creeping into the room with the light from the hallway. The bedroom doors didn't lock, but Yuri reminded himself for the tenth time that it was highly unlikely he would be disturbed so late into the night.

His name was curled onto the front of the envelope, just first name only, no patronymic or family name, showing that it wasn't anything official. But it was written in Cyrillic, which to Yuri at least indicated the sender was Russian. He carefully picked apart the seal with his fingers and pulled out three small note pages, one completely blank, and the shortest stick of pencil he had ever laid eyes on. Unable to help himself, Yuri flicked straight to the end to check the name of his mysterious messenger, and was stunned by what he saw.

_Kai Hiwatari_.

He skimmed the letter once, then twice, realised he'd still not taken in a word of it before sitting more upright against the wall and reading it properly for a third time. According to his message, Kai wanted to help them get out, wanted to rid the Abbey of Valkov and Biovolt's twisted influence for good. Yuri couldn't help but gasp, torn between horror at Kai's suggestion, anger that the boy thought they couldn't manage without his help, and an unfamiliar sense of _gratitude_ that Kai cared enough to even try.

The letter explained his defection back to his old team and the reason hit Yuri hard. Of course Kai could do nothing to help them if he was trapped within the Abbey's walls himself. Every doubt he'd had about the boy, Director's grandson or not, seemed to drain away, leaving only the respect Yuri had felt the moment he'd met him.

All Kai asked of him in return was for his trust, and his word that he wouldn't utter a single thing to anyone else in the Abbey, not even his own team. Kai was risking a lot to try and get them out, which Yuri understood; Biovolt Corporation was his grandfather's company and Kai stood to inherit it someday. If his grandfather got word from Valkov or vice versa that both he and Yuri had been communicating, the outcome wouldn't be pleasant for either of them.

Yuri shivered suddenly, and wasn't certain it was from the cold.

Kai had included the blank paper and the pencil for him to write back, knowing from the limited time he had spent back on the Neoborg team that items such as paper and pens were luxuries the Abbey didn't offer.

Within half a moment, Yuri had folded Kai's letter back into his coat and splayed the paper out on his knee, pencil stub held tightly in his fingers. He had no clue what to write back. He and Kai barely knew each other, which made it feel odd from the outset, but the sheer magnitude of what Kai was planning set Yuri's nerves on fire and he could barely think straight.

He decided to sleep on it, feeling the cold from the wall starting to seep though his sheets. He collapsed onto his bunk, hastily yanking his pillow free from it's case, thankful to Boris for showing him how to unpick the stitching along the seams with his nails to create a hiding place. Boris kept a crumpled photo hidden in the stuffing of his own pillow which Yuri had found once, entirely by accident, but had never mentioned it to his friend as he wasn't sure whether Yuri's questions around the people he suspected to be Boris' parents would be welcomed or not.

Boris rarely ever mentioned his life before the Abbey, to the point that outsiders might believe he was _born_ behind its walls, and even in the few months Yuri had spent with him before they were brought to this awful place, scouring the markets of Saint Petersburg in the hopes of finding an opportunity to steal, Boris had only gone as far as to let Yuri in on his father's name and nothing more.

Either way, the secrecy combined with his living on the streets didn't paint the happiest picture of Boris' early childhood. It was the same story for nearly every other boy they lived with.

Yuri contemplated Kai's letter the next night as well, once again too tired to move yet too alert to sleep. He listened to the plain note paper crinkle in his pillow whenever he turned his head, absently reaching up to find the hidden pencil stub through the fabric and stuffing. Still unsure of what he wanted to say, how much he was willing to give.

His indecision was resolved only a day later, though not at all as Yuri expected.

* * *

Ivan was smashing through round after round against the battle simulators in the training centre, and Yuri, finding himself with nothing better to do in his rare afternoon of so-called leisure time, had decided at lunch to play on his role as Captain – a title only, he certainly wasn't in any real position of leadership – and had been watching Ivan for the last half an hour.

The technician flicked switches and typed numbers and commands into an elongated keyboard. Yuri watched Ivan nod from the other side of the protective glass, signalling he was ready, and the battle against his mechanical opponent started up again. Ivan was certainly putting himself through his paces, sweat beading on his forehead and tracing a damp line from the collar of his shirt, and Yuri started to feel the smallest inkling of respect for him.

Glancing over the readings on a nearby screen, showing fluctuating power increases and overall output, Yuri considered the boy in front of him with an analytical eye, watching his body tense and his eyes follow each and every move of his blade. Ivan's strengths clearly lay in speed and evasion, with little thought spared for attack, defence or lasting endurance. Not that it mattered too much; in order to do any damage, an opponent would have to be able to hit him first, and even a beyblade primed for maximum accuracy would struggle to make that hit if it wasn't also quick enough to catch him.

Yuri watched as Wyborg swerved to and fro across the dish, winding great coils around the enemy blade until he'd gathered enough momentum to strike with almost blinding speed. Not so different to a serpent going for the kill. Shattered metal splayed in a cone on the base of the bowl and Wyborg skipped over the rim to spin at Ivan's feet.

"Want to go a quick round, captain?" Ivan turned to him with an almost lecherous expression, mischief burning in his eyes. He flipped his launcher over his shoulder and commanded Wyborg back to his hand, a blatant challenge, not something Yuri was known to back down from.

"It would give me a chance to fully analyse the new build structure we've implemented for Ivan in a realistic situation." The technician informed him, in response to Yuri's questioning glance for permission. "Simulators can give me stats, nothing more."

So Yuri wasn't the only one who'd had a recent upgrade. Wolborg felt heavy in his pocket, almost as if she were shivering with anticipation. He unclipped his launcher from his belt and locked his blade into place. One round couldn't hurt.

* * *

End chapter three...


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer:** Beyblade is copyright Takao Aoki. I own nothing and am simply using his characters for fun.

**Warnings:** Angst, violence, abuse.

**Note:** I wish there had been more Ivan in the series - he's really fun to write.

* * *

The setup was quick, both eager to start. Ivan uncoupled the latches on the ground that held the temporary dish he'd been working with in place - shallower than usual, Yuri guessed Ivan had been testing how well his blade travelled over a flat - and the dish slid away with a metallic clank to reveal a standard-depth bowl. Ivan crouched low and lined up his launcher, signalling to the technician when Yuri set his ripcord and nodded his consent. Timed by a recorded countdown, two blades fired into the dish and Ivan wasted no time in commanding Wyborg into action.

Yuri waited, kept Wolborg spinning a tight circle in the dead centre of the bowl, conserving power whilst he watched Wyborg twist and turn around him. Ivan would make a mistake soon enough, tempted by Wolborg's apparently open defence, and Yuri was happy to wait until that moment to make his move.

Wyborg sped across the bowl, winding great looping circles around the blade in the centre, pulling in just close enough to kiss metal against metal before shooting off again. He was teasing Yuri with his recklessness in an obvious attempt to rile him into action, and he didn't have the audacity to pretend otherwise. Yuri wouldn't budge, surely Ivan knew that, but watching Wyborg spiral around him, Yuri realised how little he knew about the other boy, and not only in terms of his beyblading skills.

Then Ivan made his first mistake, turning too wide and leaving himself vulnerable, running the wall of the dish, the mistake Yuri had been watching for, _longing_ for. Within a split second, a mental command, nothing more, Wolborg had surged from her place, speed and power doubling with the energy she'd conserved, tearing one reverse lap around the bowl and aiming for a full-on strike. The angle of his blade dipped, Yuri already having calculated by eye the distance from the tip of Ivan's blade to the bottom rim of the weight-disk and the perfect point to strike.

Ivan smirked, twitched his fingers, an action Yuri didn't fully understand until Wyborg actually _disappeared_ before his eyes and Wolborg sped through absolute thin air, a narrow, last-minute swerve saving her from a disastrous crash into the unforgiving rim of the dish.

What the _hell_?

Wolborg's confusion sparked in the back of his mind and Yuri blinked, stunned that he'd just walked straight into Ivan's trap without even realising. Apparently the match wasn't going to be as one sided as he originally thought, served him right for allowing arrogance to get the better of him.

Yuri dared a glance at the boy opposite, struggling to keep the annoyance from his expression. Ivan was toying with him, that much was clear, and he watched Ivan's dark eyes dart back and forth across the bowl, no doubt following Wyborg's impossibly fast movement, too fast for Yuri to see. He wouldn't make the same error twice, no matter how much Ivan wished him to.

Almost ten minutes in, when Yuri had made absolutely no headway and Ivan had remained almost completely invisible, Yuri stopped holding back. He was well aware that for a blade such as Ivan's, ten minutes hard work was equivalent to barely ten seconds for an endurance type of Wolborg's design, so Wyborg must have been tiring quickly, the great amount of energy required to sustain his high level of speed for so long only exacerbating the fact.

With little effort, Yuri raised the bar to the next level, calling Wolborg from her shell and wanting to laugh at the grim expression that descended on Ivan's face. Surely he knew it was over. But as he took in the great wolf looming above him, the boy's eyes widened - with awe, Yuri noticed, not the fear he had hoped for - and the mocking smirk returned to his lips.

"Did you think this was going to be easy?" Ivan asked, patronising. "You look _tired_, captain."

Yuri growled and wanted to swipe the smirk from the boy's face with his fist.

Ivan's eyes actually _glowed_ as a great gulp of air gathered in the dish, and a second later Wyborg materialised from nowhere, far too powerful for a bit-beast that should have been exhausted well beyond its limit. It was statistically impossible, and Yuri made a mental note to review Ivan's recent matches as soon as he had the chance. He'd barely spared him a second glance when he was added to the team roster, just another volatile, loud-mouthed brat with a trigger-happy personality. Hardly worth wasting a breath on. Now he wasn't so sure - he needed to know who this boy was.

The room glowed with an eerie blue-yellow aura, before Yuri threw himself back into the match with renewed vigour. He didn't worry over the possibility of losing to Ivan, knew with certainty that it wouldn't happen, but he was almost to boiling point with being _taunted_ by the younger boy.

Ivan had changed tactics, no longer hiding himself and instead repeatedly matching Yuri's attacks blow for blow, over and over, with little concern for the damage he was surely doing to his blade. Yuri glanced down at the dish, ignoring the commotion above him as his own bit-beast waged war with Ivan's.

He'd barely made a scratch on Wyborg's surface. He frowned, confused, watching Ivan's movement critically until he found the answer.

Somehow, Ivan had managed to switch his rotation to spin the opposite direction to Yuri's blade. His speed had dropped massively, matching Wolborg's almost to perfection, so that with each head-on collision, their blades merely skimmed each other. A clever move, Yuri would give him that, Ivan obviously had the technical advantage over him, but with almost no defensive power he was still easy prey.

Yuri didn't need to see anymore, calling on Wolborg to unleash her element and finish the match off quickly. Wolborg howled a powerful echo that was music to Yuri's ears as he felt her power surge through him. The temperature in the room dropped dramatically and Yuri watched the ice build around the base of his blade, lowering his ground friction to near zero and increasing his speed tenfold. The computers bleeped endlessly in the next room, and without even looking, Yuri knew that his statistics had just flown off the scales.

The boy he battled at least had the decency to look a little concerned. Wyborg ducked and dived, twisting and coiling around the dish as Wolborg began her sudden pursuit. The ice had formed a sharp spike on the very tip of his blade, and Yuri allowed himself a hint of a smile as it scored deep scars into the bowl.

Ivan's second mistake proved to be fatal. Wyborg swerved too sharply, a reckless attempt to backtrack on his own trail and launch a surprise counter from behind. His blade caught in one of the icy grooves, skipped over it and wobbled on the landing just the tiniest fraction but Yuri had spotted it instantly, and from the look on the boy's face, so had Ivan.

Wolborg stormed onward with a sudden burst of speed, tilted at that perfect angle, and hit her target with such intense momentum that the resulting impact sent Wyborg hurtling from the dish and soaring through the air, until the blade finally became embedded into the protective glass between them and the technician. The glass cracked, one single line running from Ivan's blade straight down to the ground, and Yuri smirked.

"Wow." Ivan breathed, eyes flicking between Wolborg still spinning in the dish and his blade in the glass. "Guess that's why Valkov made you captain."

"I guess so." Yuri said simply as Wolborg leapt up into his palm, closing his fingers around the frozen metal.

Ivan dashed around the divide, momentarily ignoring his blade, and stunned Yuri as he excitedly requested printouts of _everything_ that had just happened. Yuri wasn't sure how to react; he was so used to watching his opponents collapse to the floor in fear or shame, often both, when they lost to him. The sheer excitement that lit up the younger boy's face was something entirely new.

Slipping Wolborg into his pocket, her familiar weight settling again in the back of his mind, Yuri stepped up to the glass divide and glanced over Ivan's blade whilst the boy was preoccupied. The metal was scuffed, and a crack had formed in the base from the point of impact, but aside from that it was relatively unscathed. Something else new; very few blades could withstand Wolborg's assault and remain intact. Yuri reached up, intent on working Wyborg out from the glass in a rare show of generosity, Ivan had earned _that_ much. Light flared around the bit-chip as a sudden pain licked tips of his fingers and he jerked back.

He flexed his hand to survey the damage, and sure enough, Ivan's blade had actually inflicted a physical burn, only adding another layer to the boy's mystery. When Yuri glanced up again, Ivan was staring at him through the glass with a knowing grin.

"He reckons you cheated." Ivan said, shrugging his shoulders.

Yuri sneered at the accusation. "Hardly." How dare Ivan even think such a thing, Yuri had won through sheer skill alone. His mind clicked back a few seconds. "Wait - '_he_'?"

"Wyborg." Ivan nodded up at his blade, as if the single word explained the meaning of life. What the hell was the boy talking about?

He stood back as Ivan reached up to pluck Wyborg from his temporary prison, not even phased by the glowing light. Ivan didn't offer anything else on the subject which left Yuri both perplexed and irritated.

"Want to come see something cool?" Ivan zipped his blade into a pouch on his belt, flicking the safety latch on his launcher before heaving the strap over his shoulder. The thing was nearly as tall as he was.

Yuri didn't particularly want to see whatever Ivan was talking about, he wanted to watch the boy's matches and try to work out where his ability stemmed from as he'd clearly made the wrong assumptions. But it could wait, and he really had nothing else to do. "Sure."

Ivan lead him out through the training centre, chatting aimlessly about the latest technology the engineering teams were developing and how it could be incorporated into beyblades to do this and that - to be honest, Yuri had stopped listening the moment he realised he barely recognised the corridors whey walked through. The air felt colder, smelt damper, and Yuri couldn't help but feel he had just stepped below the poverty line as everything just seemed _worse_ than he was used to.

"Where are we?" Yuri asked, feigning only mild interest lest Ivan mistake him for being genuinely curious, which he was.

The boy shot him a confused glance. "West wing. You probably don't have a reason to come down here."

Yuri didn't reply and Ivan didn't seem bothered. He was right, Yuri could probably count on one hand the number of times he had been through the Western side of Abbey, the training centre and main engineering suites were on the East, as was his room. The West lead through to the science departments and what he guessed were additional bedrooms, but aside from that he wasn't sure what else it held.

A few curious faces peered around doors, some his own age, others even younger than Ivan, as he followed the boy though the corridors, still talking at a ridiculous speed about something Yuri had stopped hearing. Confused glances became sneers, and Yuri heard the whispers behind his back but let them slide right off him; they had almost become a permanent fixture since his loss in the finals.

Ivan stopped abruptly by a set of double doors, and Yuri nearly walked right into him. "Here we are!" He announced, flinging his arms towards the entrance. "After you, captain."

Yuri quirked an eyebrow and hesitated for a second, still none the wiser of what lie in the next room. Perhaps he should have bothered to listen to Ivan's inane chatter after all.

"Well go on then, I've got work to do thanks to you." His comment made no sense, only confused him further. Ivan eventually let himself into the room first and didn't bother to hold the door for him.

Gazing around the door, Yuri felt immensely stupid for being even in the slightest bit concerned. Ivan had led him to an engineering room, filled with the whirring of machines and the continual beeps and stutters of computer stations. The boy was already halfway across the room, pulling his headband and goggles down over his head. Yuri hadn't even seen him pick them up. Nobody in the room spared him a second glance as he walked through and he didn't recognise any of the workers, though a few exchanged nods with Ivan, giving Yuri the impression that he was a regular visitor.

He caught up with Ivan at the top of a winding downward staircase that led even deeper into the Abbey, and the boy lost him again with technical jargon and engineering terms that Yuri didn't understand. It was obvious though that Ivan was passionate about the subject, and Yuri filed the slither of information away in his mind for future reference.

"Want to know a secret?" Ivan asked suddenly, stopping a few steps above Yuri so that they were almost at eye level.

"Depends what it is." Yuri turned around on the lower step and shot Ivan a quizzical glance. He was right to be cautious; secrets could be easily exploited in the wrong hands.

Ivan leaned towards him, close enough that Yuri could feel the boy's warm breath on his cheek, and whispered into his ear. "I helped design your new blade."

Yuri blanched, jerking backwards and planting one foot on the next step down. "_Liar_." It was impossible. Valkov only employed the best technicians and engineers for beyblade design; there was no way they would allow the little runt of a boy standing in front of him anywhere _near_ their precious work.

Ivan merely shook his head, smirked that irritating, maniac smirk, and sauntered on down the stairs. Impossible as it seemed, it _did_ explain how quickly and easily Ivan was able to match him in their earlier battle - he already had an intimate knowledge of Wolborg's design.

Yuri stayed with Ivan for nearly two hours, listening - actually listening - to him talk about the latest ideas he wanted to put forward to the design teams, the benefits and the risks and the potential obstacles they might face. He was stunned to silence when Ivan whipped out a roughly cut circle of metal and ploughed into it with a filing machine. Ivan built his own beyblades near enough from scratch, and had even been allowed to make minor alterations of his own desire to the plans Valkov had approved. Oddly enough, the goggles he wore were to protect his eyes from the filing machine, Yuri had found _that_ out the hard way when his face and clothes became spattered with metal shavings.

He was shocked, however, when Ivan explained that he one day hoped to work for Valkov as a designer, when the man no longer considered him useful as an beyblader.

"_Why_?" Yuri asked immediately, unable to help himself. He couldn't understand why someone would willingly want to stay in the Abbey.

Ivan just shrugged, not losing focus on the attack-ring he was working on to replace the minor damage Yuri had caused. "Because I enjoy it? Engineering's just my thing, I guess. Besides, what other options do I have?"

Yuri blinked at the boy's apparently small ambitions. "What about when you get out of here - surely you wouldn't want to come back?" Yuri had long since stopped being passionate about anything, passion became meaningless when you were confined between four stone walls, but if he stayed in the Abbey, Ivan's obvious skill and enthusiasm would only go to waste and there was so much more he could aim for.

Ivan turned around then, flicking the safety on the machine and pushing his goggles back onto his forehead. "You mean, go _outside_?" He asked, staring at Yuri for a long, awkward moment, his face utterly blank. And then he snorted and laughed as if Yuri had just told him the funniest joke in the world. "You're a real comedian, captain, I'll give you that." He went back to the machine snickering.

Yuri mentally picked his jaw up off the ground and wondered whether the boy was just stupid or actually insane.

The intercom system spluttered to life over the noise of Ivan's machine, and he hit the safety again to glare at the offending speaker. It sounded tinny so deep down in the Abbey, Ivan explained it was thanks to the damp. Yuri's name echoed around the room and a muffled groan escaped his lips, he'd honestly believed he was out of training for the whole afternoon.

He nodded a farewell to Ivan who saluted him, he was undoubtedly the strangest boy Yuri had met, and was almost at the door when Ivan called out to him across the room.

"You should come back down here sometime, captain. West wing's not all that bad once you get used to it."

Yuri's eye twitched, carefully controlling his anger at being called into training as he glanced over his shoulder. It wasn't Ivan's fault. "I do have a name, you know."

Ivan grinned like an idiot. "Sure you do, _captain_."

The boy's enthusiasm for whatever resembled 'life' in the Abbey was contagious, Yuri realised, and he even allowed himself a chuckle as he climbed back up the stairs.

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Things will start picking up now… What do you think so far?


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer:** Beyblade is copyright Takao Aoki. I own nothing and am simply using his characters for fun.

**Warnings:** Angst, violence.

**Note:** Valkov makes a threat against a certain someone that forces Yuri to make a decision…

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Yuri had been ordered to battle Wolborg through a series of timed circuits, a network of twists and turns riddled with obstacles and hidden traps. He was working in one of the bigger training rooms, so long that when he stood on his marker he could barely see the far wall, and the majority of the course was surrounded by a high screen, obscuring his view of his blade. It was tough; he had to rely on instinct and his connection with Wolborg alone to prevent her from taking the wrong path through the maze.

He'd just begun his fourth run, squeezing Wolborg through a tight slalom before she disappeared from view, when Valkov slammed through the door. Yuri instantly summoned his blade, catching her in his hand and standing to attention.

Valkov glanced at him quickly with stern eyes but said nothing, instead looking over the monitors that showed his current progress. The technician pointed to graphs and charts, but Yuri wasn't able to catch their whispered conversation. Cautiously, Yuri lifted his head just a fraction to steal a glimpse of their supervisor, not enough to accidentally draw attention. Valkov seemed somewhat distracted, not a word Yuri would ever have associated with the man before, almost as if he was reading the information the technician was showing him but not actually taking any of it in.

He stood awkwardly still, hands gripped so tightly around his launcher and Wolborg that her attack-ring was biting his palm, waiting for Valkov's instruction and wishing he had just continued the run he had started if only to give himself something else to focus on rather than the man on the other side of the glass.

"You look on me as if you loathe me, Ivanov." Valkov's blunt statement cut through Yuri's thoughts and caught him off-guard. He hadn't even realised he'd been staring, let alone the fact that Valkov had noticed him doing it.

Words filled in his mouth - of _course_ he loathed the man, how could he not? - but he swallowed them down, forcing his eyes to his feet. "Sorry sir."

The backhand across his cheek was unexpected, but before Yuri's head had even snapped to the side, Valkov roughly grabbed his chin and tilted his head up. "I offered you a purpose here, gave you the opportunity to thrive, allowed you to stay despite your defeat, and still you show me nothing but resentment. Would you rather I had left you on the streets of Saint Petersburg?"

"No sir." Yuri's response was instant though flat and meaningless. He wasn't expected to give a detailed answer. There was a dangerous hint to Valkov's tone that had filled Yuri with unease and he wanted nothing more than to tear his face away from the man's grasp, even if it would infuriate him. There was something hidden behind Valkov's cruel leer that had frozen him to the spot.

"Everything I have given you, everything that has made you who you are, I can take away just as quickly. Remember that." Nails bit into his skin as Valkov's grip tightened, voice laced with a threatening malice. "Unless you would like to end up facing the same punishment as your _friend_?"

Yuri forced himself to swallow and resisted the urge to close his eyes because he couldn't bear to look at the man in front of him. "No sir."

"Kuznetsov was beaten so severely that he _begged_ for it to stop, were you aware of that?" Valkov smirked as Yuri choked a breath.

_Impossible_, it had to be. Yuri was certain that Valkov was lying. It must have been a ruse, a dirty, underhand attempt to rile him up, to get him to fight back because then the man would have a reason to hit him. Boris would never _beg_, no matter how bad the punishment was, no matter how painful, he would never allow himself to fall so low. But then Yuri remembered the dejected stare Boris had sent him, remembered how _broken_ he had looked sat in the food hall, covered in lacerations and bruises and refusing to say a single word, and Yuri wondered whether he had overestimated Boris' strength. Everybody had their limit, and although Boris' was so much higher than most, he still had a breaking point.

Recognition flickered in Valkov's eyes just as pure, unadulterated fear settled in Yuri's gut. "It is genuinely astonishing how loyal you are to him, Ivanov. He is weak, pitiful, completely undeserving of your devotion, and yet you still care for him. Am I correct?

"Yes…" Yuri whispered, hesitating for a half-second as the possible implications of Valkov's words began to sink in. He would do anything for Boris, but the Abbey gave no reward for loyalty or friendship - if anything, attachment was more likely to bring you harm - so he had kept the thought to himself. Except Valkov had noticed, and with the man's hand clenched around his jaw, Yuri was in no position to deny it. "Yes sir."

Valkov hummed thoughtfully, a vile sound that pierced Yuri's ears, and he suddenly sneered as if he had come to a realisation. "Then perhaps we can come to an agreement. For each of your failures and acts of disobedience, for each drop in performance, for every single time you so much as _think _without my explicit permission to do so…" A twisted smile curled Valkov's lips. "I will ensure that Kuznetsov takes the full blame."

"Sir-" Panic rose in Yuri's throat, strangling anything else he might have said and leaving him breathless.

"Regretfully, however, there may be instances when I am not able to attend his punishment and will be required to leave it in the more than capable hands of our extraordinary science team." Valkov drew back, sadistic humour dancing in his expression that almost pushed Yuri to tears. "Of course, I cannot guarantee he will be able to function well once they are done with him. Do you understand, Ivanov?"

He had to do something, _say_ something, Boris caused enough trouble for himself without taking on Yuri's mistakes as well and there was no way Yuri could allow Valkov to take advantage of that. "I understand sir, but I-"

Valkov interrupted, unperturbed by the distress that was suffocating Yuri. "You will stay here until you are able to complete the circuit within no more than four minutes. Is that clear?

"Sir, that's-" Yuri had wanted to say it was impossible - even the fastest blade took at least five minutes to navigate the maze and Wolborg wasn't built for that level of speed - until he remembered that the notion of impossibility was something completely foreign to Valkov. "I can't do it."

This time he expected the fist to his stomach, his reward for daring to talk back. Yuri staggered slightly, blinking the pain from his eyes and clenching his jaw, Valkov's fingers still digging into his chin.

"If you truly value Kuznetsov's life," His voice was nothing more than a dark whisper that sent a chill through Yuri's entire body. "You will do _precisely_ as I have asked." He pushed Yuri away so forcefully he struggled to stay on his feet, and Yuri flinched as the training room door slammed shut.

The finality and the deadly, undeniable threat in Valkov's tone left Yuri standing rooted to the spot, breathing in staggered pants as he tried to get his mind around what had just occurred. There was no doubt that Valkov was using Boris to get him to follow orders, dangling his friend's life in front of his eyes as a constant reminder of exactly who was in control and just how far Valkov was willing to go to ensure Yuri remained obedient.

They were both trapped under Valkov's boot, between them barely able to carry the weight. If Boris escaped, Yuri wouldn't have the strength to survive alone, and if Yuri got out… Valkov wouldn't _allow_ Boris to survive.

Wolborg's presence blossomed in the back of his mind, and Yuri caught the faint glow surrounding his blade from the corner of his eye, trying to offer comfort that Yuri wasn't able to accept. Four minutes. There was no _way_ he would be able to complete the circuit in such a short time, even at the peak of his performance. His blade was built for endurance, capable of outlasting nearly any opponent he battled, pure speed wasn't part of his style and never had been. The only person Yuri believed may have been able to achieve Valkov's impossible target was Ivan, and even then the boy would have to push both himself and Wyborg to the very limit to stand a chance.

Yuri wondered briefly just how determined Valkov was to pull through on his threat. He shook his head to clear the thought, already knowing that Valkov wouldn't go back on his word; he had promised to punish Boris for Yuri's failures, and that was exactly what he would do. Yuri could only hope that Valkov didn't plan to leave the Abbey over the next few days; he wouldn't be able to beat the four minute target on the circuit, that was certain, and the thought of Boris being punished at the hands of the Abbey's crazed scientists made him feel physically sick. At least Valkov still held the smallest shred of compassion for life, enough to know when to stop before injuries became fatal.

Even if he only did so to ensure he could continue later on.

A knock on the glass made him jump and he stared at the technician with wide eyes, realising slowly that the man was prompting him to start the circuit. Yuri only noticed he was trembling when he tried to lock Wolborg back onto his launcher, a fearful, frustrated whine tearing from his throat when he failed to even do that much. His hands were still shaking when he stood ready again on the marker and took aim. He had to beat four minutes, _had_ to, otherwise Boris would suffer on his behalf. Before he'd even fired Wolborg and she shot towards the maze, Yuri was already repeating endless apologies in his mind.

Five hours and countless circuits later, Yuri collapsed to the ground. He was exhausted, his body felt numb, long past feeling the intense burn from overexertion. He'd managed to shorten his time to only a few seconds faster than the the six minute average but couldn't achieve any better, in fact, in the last hour his times had grown longer.

Yuri wasn't arrogant enough to assume the reason he was able to keep going for so long was due to his own determination. He'd been ready to give up about half-way through, physically unable to give anything more, but Wolborg had sacrificed what little she could spare of her own energy to keep him on his feet, to keep him alert, to force him to keep _trying_ as if she were able to sense just how desperate Yuri was. Her strength had surged through him, sparking new life in deadened nerves, but even she was only able to last for so long, and Yuri had felt her gradually drain away until he could barely feel her presence in the back of his mind.

The technician had recorded his final results, pathetic as they were, and despite Yuri's frantic pleading and the hopelessness he could hear in his own voice, the man flatly refused to allow him additional time. He'd been given his orders just as Yuri had his own, and he wasn't going to disobey.

Immediately upon being removed from the training room, Yuri had all but run through the Abbey and outside, throwing up the measly lunch he'd eaten into the snow.

Yuri sat by the entrance under the watchful eye of a guard who was counting the minutes to curfew, too numb to even feel the cold around him. He tried to convince himself that he was stronger than Valkov thought him to be, that Boris was capable of taking whatever the man could throw at him, that together they would both one day walk out of the Abbey and through the iron gates that taunted Yuri every time he laid eyes on them. But there were occasions when Yuri wasn't able to lie to himself, and this was one of them.

Looking out at what little he could see of Moscow in the distance, still feeling the guard's unmoving stare on the back of his head, Yuri thought of Kai. Kai who was surely wrapped up in a warm bed, who was surrounded by his closest friends, whose worst fear was probably waking to find he had forgotten to close his bedroom window the night before.

Yuri hated himself for feeling so jealous, especially because Kai was risking himself for a chance to earn Yuri and the other boys their freedom. He knew he sounded selfish, but nothing seemed _fair_ anymore. What exactly had he done to deserve the treatment he received at the Abbey? What exactly had _any_ of them done to deserve it?

The answer was nothing. Absolutely _nothing_. Yuri had been offered a choice between freezing to his death on Saint Petersburg's unforgiving streets and the chance of making something of himself at the Abbey; he wasn't stupid, his answer had been all too easy. Boris' story was almost the same as his own, and from what Yuri had heard, Sergei had been given no choice at all.

A steel-capped boot dug into his spine, a wordless warning that he was risking being caught outside after curfew when the Abbey's doors sealed shut for the night. Yuri dragged himself back inside, scuffing his feet against the ground on his tortuously slow journey back to his room.

Vasily was hovering outside his bedroom door when he eventually made it to the third floor, looking scarily like a stalker with how menacingly he advanced on him. Yuri backed off a step, not bothering to mask his exhaustion, but the boy didn't seem to get the hint.

"You know, there's a supplies delivery due in two days' time." Vasily whispered, staring at a point on a faraway wall as his fingers curled around the back of Yuri's neck, "And I'd like to think I'm the person to talk to if anyone wants anything _delivered_." He didn't even look down, just clapped Yuri on the shoulder once and left him alone to work out the rest. It answered a niggling question in Yuri's mind, at least, and he wondered if Sergei was aware of what his roommate got up to behind the scenes.

Sighing, Yuri settled back on his bed knowing exactly what he would be responding to Kai. He pulled the paper and pencil from their secret spot and chucked his pillow to the side so that he could see his writing in the moonlight. He'd help Kai with whatever he needed, and if he had to keep silent about it, he would do.

If Kai could get them out, then Yuri was willing to take the risk, no matter how great. If not for his own selfish dreams, if not to give Sergei back the life he'd lost when the Abbey's doors closed on him…

If not for the boys like Ivan who had resigned themselves to being slaves to a madman when they clearly had so much more to offer.

Then he would do it for Boris, before he lost his life to Valkov's insanity.

* * *

Any comments? Criticism?


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer:** Beyblade is copyright Takao Aoki. I own nothing and am simply using his characters for fun.

**Warnings:** Angst, violence.

**Note:** Thanks again to everyone reading up to now.

_some stuff_ – I hope the name changes aren't too distracting! Glad you're enjoying it :)

_unknown reader_ – I'm trying to keep things in character as much as possible but still taking a few liberties because I can. To answer your question, this is aiming to be a (close)friendship fic, but you might see hints at something more if you look for them. Hopefully it can be read either way.

* * *

Yuri groaned, wishing nothing more than to lie down on the cold floor of his room and sleep. Valkov had stepped his training programme up a multitude of notches, and with the sleeplessness that had plagued him ever since the finals nearly a month ago, his performance was starting to suffer. He still achieved every target Valkov set, but he knew he could have been quicker, could have been stronger, could have done _more_.

Valkov noticed too, unsurprising when his results and the comparisons to his earlier performance were printed in clear black and white, so the man pushed him harder and further and targets became ridiculous numbers that sailed well over Yuri's capability, and Valkov took immense pleasure in constantly reminding him who would take the blame should he fail.

He managed to change into his sleepwear and climb the short ladder to the top bunk before collapsing face down onto the mattress. His entire body ached, muscles already growing stiff from overuse, and Yuri could feel the strain in his arms from launching Wolborg a hundred times until Valkov was satisfied his action and timing were just _perfect_, before ordering him to practice the exact move another hundred times over.

Yuri wasn't sure how much more he could take before he completely exhausted himself.

Sleep evaded him as usual, leaving him lying awake on his back staring up at the ceiling that was only a few feet away from his face. All of the rooms in the Abbey were cramped, held either one or two sets of bunk beds and a small basin, nothing more. Shared toilet facilities were located at either end of each floor, and were usually unbelievably grimy. Yuri was lucky to have been 'gifted' with a room with a window; he had a beautiful view of the Russian countryside from the third floor, the only downside was a freezing draft that swept through the room in the depths of winter.

Without warning, his mind flickered over to Kai and the letter still tucked into the lining of his coat, wondering whether his response had got through yet. If Yuri were to be entirely honest, he truly did envy Kai. Not for the fact that he no longer had to endure the Abbey, not for his freedom, and certainly not for his friends. No, Yuri envied him most for all the little things he was sure the boy had. A warm bed, for a start.

Still, if Kai's letter was to be trusted, and for once Yuri allowed himself to hope, it might not be too long before he could taste those little things as well.

He was still staring blankly at the ceiling when he heard his door creak open and Boris' face peered through.

"Yura? You awake?" He asked, and Yuri would have been lying if he said he didn't notice how strained the boy's voice sounded. As if he'd been shouting – Yuri didn't want to think about why.

Rolling to his side, Yuri forced his mind to ignore the tingle of pain throbbing through his whole body and met Boris' eyes. Even in the dim light that filtered through from the hallway, he could see the bruising that still remained on Boris' face and the way he was almost hunched over, arms wrapped protectively across his chest. He may have been well enough for basic training, but the past two weeks had done little to heal his injuries.

Wordlessly, Boris slid through the tiny gap in the door and eased it shut. He didn't turn around immediately and Yuri's eyes picked out the scuffs and tears in the back of his jacket.

"Why didn't you tell me?" The words were out of Yuri's mouth before he could rein them in, and he almost regretted them when Boris' shoulders sagged and he leaned heavily against the wall. Boris had always been the stronger one; the polar opposite to Yuri – the reckless brawler versus the sly manipulator – yet Yuri could almost _see_ the despair rolling from him.

"Tell you what?" Boris' voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper. He knew full well what Yuri was referring to, but clearly refused to be the first to admit it.

Sitting up on his bed, Yuri instinctively pulled the thin sheets tighter around him as if they could provide safety. Something had changed in his friend, he could sense it, and it was even worse than when the boy had returned from his year-long training in isolation.

Whoever stood hunched by his door now wasn't even the same boy who had crept into his room late at night just over a month ago. He hadn't said anything then, just lay down on the empty bottom bunk and slept, but his mere presence and his silent promise of support no matter _what _happened had helped alleviate Yuri's growing anxiety over the championship.

Now it seemed that Boris was still barely able to support his own weight, let alone Yuri's problems as well.

The only thing that had happened between then and now was the tournament final and the punishment he had endured as a result. Boris was capable of taking the worst beating and standing back up as if it were nothing but a scratch, anger covered pain far more easily than perhaps was healthy for him. On the same line, Boris had never allowed himself to be affected by the outcome of any of his battles – granted, he rarely lost – but it seemed like the second round against Rei Kon had taken its toll on him, more than he even expected himself.

"You threw that match, Borya." Yuri stated quietly, unable to help feeling like his words were damning Boris to an endless suffering. To deliberately lose a match really was unheard of in the Abbey, the bottom line had always been that they fought to win or they died trying, God help anyone who dared to do any different.

Boris sighed – a weak, dejected sound if ever Yuri heard one – and limped his way to the bottom bunk without looking up. "I didn't plan to." He admitted after a long moment. "I only decided when I was walking through that tunnel."

"You still could have told me. Told me you had thought about it." Yuri peered over the cold metal rail of his bunk and stared at the top of Boris' bowed head.

"Would it have made a difference?" It was a rhetorical question, they both knew it would have had no impact whatsoever on the outcome of the tournament; they fought for Valkov not for each other, so Yuri kept his thoughts to himself.

Yuri had heard rumours banded around the food hall and through the corridors that Boris had been kept under constant supervision for the past two weeks, which explained why Yuri hadn't even seen him once. Judging by the fact that Boris was still obviously suffering from injuries that should have at least started to fade by now, Yuri couldn't help but wonder whether he'd been forced back into the care of the specialist trainers who had previously watched over him for a year. Yuri didn't know the details of what went on in the science building, didn't even want to guess.

Valkov hadn't taken it easy on Boris in the days following the finals, if the state of him when he finally was able to show his face in the food hall was any indication, and whilst it seemed that violence wasn't necessarily Valkov's preferred form of punishment for Boris' loss any longer, it was becoming clear that he still wasn't going to allow him to forget it.

Especially if Yuri continued to make mistakes.

Yuri heard Boris hiss, removing his jacket with stiff arms and gingerly easing himself down onto the bunk. It had been a risk, substituting the loud-mouthed Ivan who at the time Yuri knew barely anything about and playing Boris on the final team, a risk that clearly hadn't paid off. Valkov would have been just as angry with his own failed decision as he was with the fact that Boris had dared to act against him. Unfortunately Boris had paid for _both_ of those mistakes.

"Did Kinomiya win?" Boris asked. Yuri knew he wasn't referring to the official result, he could have found that out himself. Boris wanted to know whether he had lost against Takao's skill alone, or whether there had been another factor involved.

A sigh escaped Yuri's lips, and he wanted to move down from his bed if only to sit on the ground and offer what little he could in the way of comfort. He knew Boris wouldn't appreciate the gesture; the boy had made it perfectly clear in the past that he preferred to suffer alone. "I don't know."

A thud echoed in the tiny room as Boris' fist hit the wall, and Yuri felt the pain reverberate in his own heart. His eyes stung, a breath caught in his throat and he swallowed, not wanting to show weakness in front of the boy on the bottom bunk. Boris had never reacted well to seeing Yuri upset; it only made him furious with the person who had caused it and Yuri was in no mood to deal with Boris' anger.

"Have you seen Sergei?" Yuri asked instead, hoping to steer the conversation away from himself.

"No. Vasily said he's in Saint Petersburg."

Vasily had been Sergei's roommate for as long as Yuri could remember so he had no reason not to take the older boy's words as the truth. For the entire year Boris had been taken away from him, Yuri had envied his and Sergei's friendship. It was a lot easier to survive in the Abbey when you had someone to share your misery with.

No doubt Valkov had taken Sergei with him to Saint Petersburg to try to prove that he had achieved at least one positive result from his sickening regime. Not that it would negate that fact that the one who had the most riding on him – Yuri himself – had failed miserably at the final hurdle. Add onto that the fact that Boris had refused to be Valkov's puppet any longer, and Yuri was glad he wasn't the one on the receiving end of the Director's wrath.

Anger churned under his skin and Yuri hoped Valkov suffered immensely for their failures.

Silence descended in the room, awkward and uncomfortable and Yuri almost wanted to writhe under the pressure of it. Boris' breathing had evened out, shallow and rasping slightly, Yuri realised he'd fallen asleep and suddenly felt alone. His own mind was still far too active to even consider sleeping, the pain in his arms and the ache that settled in his entire body reminding him of how far they had fallen following the tournament, and with Valkov's threat looming over his head, just how much further they had left to fall.

He was no idiot; he'd given up faith in his future a long time ago and no longer saw the point in hoping for miracles. Their only chance of escaping the four cold walls of the Abbey stood on the other side of the gates, and even then, the chance was slim.

Boris coughed dryly, interrupting Yuri's thoughts, and he heard movement on the bunk below. "I _never_ trusted Hiwatari." Boris said quietly. Yuri wondered if the boy could read his mind. "He's the Director's grandson – blatantly obvious he wasn't going to end up staying with us..."

Yuri hummed but said nothing. He had originally wanted to tell Boris about his exchange with Kai, but now decided against it. To get a message in from the outside was difficult enough, and to get a reply back out risked severe punishment. He knew Boris would be furious to find out that Yuri had deliberately put himself in the firing line, just as Yuri knew that it wouldn't be himself suffering for it if he had been caught. But even if the chance that Kai could help them was almost zero, as their captain and their _friend_, Yuri had to try. Boris wouldn't understand; just like every other boy in the Abbey he only saw Kai as a traitor, Yuri himself had been no different until the day he'd received the letter.

The metal bed frame shook and Boris' head appeared at the top of the ladder a moment later, signalling with a nod for Yuri to make room. Boris kicked off his boots and heaved himself up onto the top bunk, lying down on his side and curling slightly around Yuri's crossed legs. There was barely enough space for Yuri alone, yet he was glad Boris had decided to join him. Two weeks apart was long enough.

That awful silence returned, and after the third time Boris visibly winced as he tried to get comfortable, Yuri sighed. "Where does it hurt?"

"Everywhere?" Boris replied sarcastically, rolling weary eyes when he noticed Yuri's expectant stare. He gingerly stretched his arm around his back, indicating vaguely to his right side.

Yuri nodded, the need to at least try to make Boris a little more comfortable temporarily overriding his thoughts.

"Take your shirt off and lie on your stomach." He ordered, sliding down the ladder and feeling blindly under his bunk for the stolen towel he had hidden there, sandwiched between the slatted base and his mattress. He couldn't hear any movement above him and glanced back up to see that Boris had merely slumped over. "You still need to take your shirt off, Borya."

"Eager, aren't you?" It was muffled by the pillow, but Yuri was glad to hear the familiar taunt in Boris' voice, very much preferring it to the carefully disguised misery from earlier.

He soaked the towel under freezing water from the basin, wringing it only a little before folding it into a square. Yuri caught Boris struggling to lift his arm to properly remove his shirt but didn't offer to help, knowing that it would only irritate him. Boris lay back down with a groan, knocking his shirt over the railing to the floor.

Yuri knelt over Boris' legs and couldn't help but grimace as he took in the state of his friend's back; he'd seen the scars before, stretched out like a mosaic, but he only had to take one look at the heavy purple bruising decorating the length of his right flank to understand why Boris could barely move. Yuri couldn't help but see it as his failure to meet the four minute target on the timed circuit painted over Boris' skin.

"What did you do?" He asked quietly.

"Nothing." Boris hissed as Yuri pressed the cold towel over his injury, fingers tightening their grip on the pillowcase. The bruise was thick and looked suspiciously similar to the size and shape of the metal batons the guards carried with them. For once, Yuri believed him; he was in no doubt that whatever punishment Boris had received was a result of Yuri's inability to keep up with Valkov's demanding training.

Yuri worked as gently as he could, eventually opting to lay the towel across Boris' skin when he twitched from the pain. He hoped it would help with the swelling at least, settling back on his heels and rubbing his eyes, suddenly feeling drained. He stayed quiet for a long while, growing more concerned when Boris' refused to release his grip on the pillowcase. Yuri knew that the bruise must have been tender, but for Boris to still be in agony even though he was resting was unusual, and Yuri started to wonder if there might be more to it. "You should go for a medical, get them to check for internal-"

"I'm _fine_. They gave me a four." Boris insisted, irritation already working its way into his tone and warning Yuri off.

Yuri paid no heed to the warning, so used to hearing it that it barely touched his ears. "That was weeks ago. I can tell _this_ is recent." He abandoned gentleness in favour of checking Boris over himself, pressing his fingers against the centre of the bruising. He traced each rib, ignoring the agitated growl that escaped Boris' lips and the way he flinched under Yuri's touch. If Boris wasn't willing to go back to the medical ward that was up to him, but he was clearly stupid if he thought Yuri was going to just let him walk around without _someone_ checking his injuries.

It was difficult to tell through the swelling, but Yuri couldn't feel anything out of place. Of course, Yuri was no doctor so his own diagnosis was practically worthless, and he had no way of checking for any internal damage. He sighed, rearranged the towel on Boris' back and slowly moved over on the bunk so that he could sit at Boris' side again.

"You really should go." He suggested, knowing that his words were falling on deaf ears but trying regardless. He glanced at Boris' face where it was half buried in the pillow, frowning when he noticed that his friend's finger was clenched between his teeth. "Especially if it's _that_ bad."

Boris practically spat his finger from his mouth and twisted his head around, scowling. "Why do you always have to get involved?" He asked, voice matching the anger in his eyes. "I said I'm _fine_."

Yuri scoffed, annoyed by Boris' blatant disregard for his own wellbeing, not that it was anything new to him. "Because I don't believe you. There are some things you _can't_ hide from me, Borya, and pain is one of them." He lay what he hoped was a comforting hand on his friend's shoulder and Boris' scowl lessened.

Cursing under his breath, Boris suddenly turned his head away, signalling the end of the conversation. He pulled the sheets across his back as best he could and tucked his arms under his head, breathing slowly evening out as he fell asleep and leaving the room in silence.

Yuri spent the night wide awake, sitting on his bunk and watching Boris sleep, hoping that the boy's injuries were only superficial and wondering whether he was making an incredibly stupid mistake by leaving their fate in Kai's hands.

* * *

Next up, things start to change around the Abbey…


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer:** Beyblade is copyright Takao Aoki. I own nothing and am simply using his characters for fun.

**Warnings:** Angst, violence.

**Note:** Things are changing, and there's a little tension developing between friends.

* * *

Yuri stared bleakly at the shards of broken metal lying around him, Wolborg still spinning gloriously in the centre of the dish. The standard issue beyblades loaded into the launchers had long since stopped being a threat, and he barely had to pay attention to whatever his own blade was doing.

It was basic training; Yuri had been doing it day in, day out for nearly nine years, so Wolborg's instinct alone was enough to ensure he exceeded the targets the computers set for him. He'd been working in silence for a few hours now, aside from the commotion in the bowl. The technician that had come into the small training room to check up on him had set himself up at a computer station and not said a single word since, and for that, Yuri was immensely thankful.

Usually he was able to use his practice sessions against the mechanical launchers as an opportunity to phase out, focus his mind away from whatever was bothering him, and end the session feeling calm and refreshed. But for a reason he couldn't fathom, there was something bothering him that he just couldn't shake. It wasn't Kai, whilst he was anxious to get another letter he knew he had to be patient. It wasn't Boris that bothered him, Yuri had been living with the boy for long enough to know when his thoughts centred around his friend. No, whatever it was, it was so deeply ingrained in his mind that he just couldn't reach it, toying between suspicion and apprehension but settling on neither, only leaving him with a sense of unease.

Something was happening, something that made the Abbey feel… _Different_, for lack of a better word. He just couldn't work out for sure what was causing it.

He flicked out his wrist, his blade faithfully leaping from the dish to his waiting hand, and ran his thumb over the bit-chip. Even though Wolborg had been repaired immediately after the championship, Valkov had ordered another upgrade for her since then, and there was no doubting that the improvements had only made her stronger, quicker across the dish, and more deadly in her attack. He wished she could speak to him, but only felt the familiar, comforting warmth flicker in the back of his mind.

The technician in the next room knocked on the thick glass pane that protected him and the machinery he worked on from the destruction Yuri had caused in the dish, and on auto-pilot, Yuri clipped his launcher to his belt and stepped around the divide to check his results. He was above target in every measurable aspect, as expected, and declined the printout the technician offered him. He didn't need a slip of paper to tell him something he already knew, only hoped that he'd done enough to please Valkov.

Yuri stopped outside the training room and frowned at the emptiness of the dark corridor stretching either side of him. Normally the training centre was alive with noise and movement, the excitement of winners and the misery of losers. Now, however, it was eerily quiet. He sighed heavily, tucking his arms around himself and picking a direction at random. He had nothing to do now for an hour until he was due for another training session and his mind absently wondered back to his previous results.

He still struggled with Valkov's own demanding standards, but in terms of his work with the technicians, Yuri had met every benchmark that had been set for him, achieved every goal and overcame each obstacle thrown at him. Even now, in the eyes of the technical team if not in Valkov's, he was still a model student. Yet it still didn't explain how he'd managed to lose the final round to Takao in the championship. No matter how many times Yuri pitted himself against a mechanical opponent who was programmed to the same specifications as Takao's own beyblade and battle style, he hadn't lost once – hadn't even come close to losing, in fact. Of course, there was no way of emulating Takao's Dragoon beast, and even by upping speed and attack statistics, there was no real way of confirming whether they were anywhere near Takao's actual numbers.

Worrying about the past wasn't something he was usually prone to do, but there was just something about the fact that he couldn't remember half of his match that had grated on his nerves ever since the officials had announced the final result.

A faint cry caught his attention, so quiet he thought he may have just imagined it until he heard it again. He paused on his way back through the training centre, ignoring the odd stares he received from the few technicians there as he backtracked and instead made his way down into the East wing's engineering block.

The cry became louder, Yuri instantly recognising it as the desperate call of a caged bird, and he wasn't at all shocked to see what, or more specifically, _who_, was causing it.

"You!" A dark-haired man in a crisp white lab coat stood up sharply and rushed to his side as Yuri pushed through a heavy door, the clipboard in his hand clattering to the ground. "You shouldn't be down here, if-"

"Just one minute, that's all I want." Yuri shot the man the best pleading gaze he could muster, and it seemed to work as the man backed down with a slight nod. He once had nearly everyone in the department wrapped around his little finger until the championship, and was glad to see that he still demanded a small shred of respect.

Yuri moved further into the room, glancing across at computer screens that showed the parts and statistics of Boris' beyblade, graphs flickering up and down as calculations were made and changed, altering everything on the screen. Falborg himself was the cause of all the noise, and Yuri wasn't surprised. The great falcon was trapped in the smallest of columns in the centre of the room, slamming repeatedly against the sides with enough force to shatter the glass, had the engineers not been clever enough to have already reinforced his prison.

He figured Boris hadn't been practising much with his bit-beast since the championship. It made some sense, Boris' unique ability to mutate air itself into a vicious weapon could easily be turned against Valkov himself, but without Falborg as the driving force, the skill was useless. Yuri wondered whether Falborg had been trapped underground ever since Boris' match in the finals. No bird liked to be caged; Yuri knew that, especially not one as powerful as Falborg. Yuri laid his hand against the column, gazing up at the beast as he turned his head to the side, watching Yuri with one dark, beady eye.

He found himself wondering what Falborg had thought of Boris' actions during the match; whether he'd understood that Boris had no desire to win. Falborg had certainly started off strong, straight off the launch he'd gathered enough momentum to chip a sizeable chunk from the metal rim of the dish. He hadn't held back in raising biting wind strong enough to tear at Rei's skin – a specific order from Valkov's own demented mind, no doubt, for the rule books could offer nothing against a force you couldn't actually see.

But like all bit-beasts, Falborg was tied to his owner's demands, and Yuri wished he could have seen into Falborg's mind at each and every moment he was ordered to create opportunities to destroy, only for Boris to pull him back at the last second and let those opportunities go to waste. Yuri had looked on from the balcony in the stadium, had watched the replay of the match afterwards, and even he could physically see the hesitation in Boris' bit-beast. As always, Boris' determination to see the match through to its inevitable conclusion astounded him.

The mournful cries started up again as Yuri turned around and left the room, but he refused to look back.

Yuri sighed as he made his way through the corridors to the food hall, tucking Wolborg into his pocket. He shook his head, trying to rid himself of the sight of Takao's beaming face and the warmth of the boy's hand as it shook his own. He'd wasted too many sleepless nights lost in thought; when he wasn't resisting the urge to get Kai's letter out again he tried to force his mind to recall what had actually happened during the second half of his match, coming up with nothing every time.

He'd blacked out, that much was almost glaringly obvious, yet still his body had somehow carried on with the battle. Even Wolborg had gone berserk, must have sensed her owner's unfocused mental state and resorted to basic survival instinct; unfortunately the ice that tore through the stadium had thrown off the cameras, leaving Yuri with nothing but blurred images to review.

The food hall was nearly empty when he pushed through the heavy double doors, and Yuri wasn't sure whether to be thankful, for it meant less noise for him to put up with, or irritated, as whatever was served on his plate would no doubt be cold.

Yuri's eyes caught Boris' lone figure in his usual seat at their usual table, absently wondering whether it should feel odd how easily even the newer boys in the Abbey settled into an unwavering routine that boiled all the way down to where they sat to eat. Boris sat on the side of the table that had his back to the wall, giving him a clear view of everyone else in the hall and the main entrance. Yuri sat opposite, slightly to his right so as to not block his line of sight, giving Yuri the opportunity to gaze out through the window onto the Abbey grounds and stare longingly at the iron gates that never opened.

Nobody but Sergei and Vasily – and Ivan, oddly enough, at least in the final days of the championship – dared to sit with them, Boris' mere presence made sure of that.

He eyed the tray that was handed to him with disdain; a bowl of grim looking soup that was calculated to be nutritiously balanced and smelled like sour milk, and a slither of dry bread that was most likely stale.

Yuri took his seat at the table and uncapped a water bottle, pouring a good quarter of it onto his tray in the hopes that it might soak into the bread and at least make it partially edible. Boris cocked an eyebrow at him and smirked at his behaviour, but refused to comment further. Odd, as Boris was usually the one to start talking.

After a good five minutes of silence, in which Yuri decided he could see nothing through the window except snow, he gave Boris a mock-content sigh. "I exceeded my targets again today."

Boris merely nodded and shot another suspicious glance around the hall, stirring his soup distractedly but never eating it.

Yuri had picked up on his friend's apparent unease from the moment he sat down, and seeing that whatever was causing it was bothering Boris enough to silence him, decided to question him on it. "Everything alright?"

Boris frowned into his bowl. "Something's happened." He said quietly, glancing at the uniformed men that surrounded the food hall. "They aren't showing it but you can tell something's not right."

"What do you mean?" To Yuri, the guards had become a nothing more than a feature, an ornament that he rarely took any noticed of now. For all he cared they may as well have been painted on the walls.

"I've missed three sessions with Doctor Barinov this week alone, Yura, and I've barely been in training." Boris explained, stunning Yuri slightly with the urgency in his voice. "Valkov would _never_ have allowed me to miss a single session before. Something's not right, I can just feel it."

"Maybe he doesn't think you need the sessions anymore?" Yuri offered, shrugging and feigning indifference to cover up his concern. The niggling feeling from earlier had suddenly exploded in his mind, sending tremors through his nerves and leaving him with the strange sensation of feeling breathless without actually being out of breath.

Boris scoffed, disbelief twisting his expression. "Don't be stupid, surely you've noticed this place has changed?"

He made the mistake of catching Boris' eye, and couldn't shake the feeling that the boy was looking straight into him.

He didn't necessarily want to accept it, but the facts were almost undeniable. Boris was right. It hadn't been obvious at first, Yuri had noticed that the odd training session had slipped Valkov's mind and he was no longer punished for every petty thing he did wrong. Even Boris looked a little livelier than he had done for weeks. He'd put it down to Valkov being under stress from the Director and had barely allowed himself to be thankful for the slight reduction in pressure, knowing it could pick up again at any moment.

In Valkov's absence, like the good soldier he was, Yuri still took himself to training and ran his own practice sessions under the technician's watchful eye. He tried to convince himself that he did so for lack of anything better to do, though he knew that truthfully he kept pushing himself so that when Valkov did return to his usual routine, he wouldn't be disappointed.

But when the odd session turned into a few in a row, and a whole day of no enforced training became three days, until even their basic, mundane sessions in the gymnasium seemed to be nothing but an afterthought in everyone's mind, Yuri had been forced to acknowledge that something was _very_ wrong.

Of course, just like many of the other boys, Yuri had his own theories for Valkov's seemingly growing distraction, but a part of Yuri still wanted to deny what his heart was desperately trying to tell him for fear of being wrong. So many times before he had got his hopes up, only to watch those hopes instantly shredded before his eyes.

"I have a confession..." Yuri murmured, chest tightening with a sudden fear over what he was intending to admit. Boris merely glanced up from his bowl, silently urging him to continue with a quirked eyebrow. "I've been writing to Kai-"

The reaction was instant and just as Yuri expected, Boris' spoon fell from his hand and anger exploded in his eyes. "Hiwatari?" He spat. "Why? What for? Hell, Yura, if someone had caught you-"

"I know, Borya." Yuri interrupted, trying to placate his friend by raising his hands, Boris' furious whisper had caught the attention of a nearby guard and he hardly wanted his admission to go public. "But I _wasn't_ caught." Boris probably wouldn't have been sat with him otherwise; Valkov would have made sure of that.

"Beside the point." Boris was sat completely upright, narrowed eyes boring straight into Yuri's. His fists were clenched so tightly on the table they had started to tremble, knuckles stained white, a tell-tale sign that Boris was struggling to keep himself calm. Yuri had noticed the boy's habits not long after becoming friends with him, and had committed every little thing to memory – forward thinking had turned out to be a near life-saver on a few occasions.

"Borya, listen to me carefully." His words came across as more of a desperate plea than a demand, and Yuri felt disgusted that he'd even uttered them. He shook his head quickly and focused back on the moment, he needed Boris to understand. "Kai thinks he can help us get out of here. You know I've always said that if there was a chance then I wouldn't think twice about taking it."

"What about me?" Boris asked quietly, scowling into his bowl.

Yuri was confused, did Boris think he was only referring to getting himself out? Surely the boy didn't honestly think Yuri would leave him behind – they were in this together, after all. "What about you?"

"I've been trying to get us out for years. I've already told you, all I need to do is work out how to get us both over the-" His friend's voice had risen again, and Yuri quickly interrupted before he drew too much attention.

"I know. But you don't understand. Kai thinks he can get us _all_ out." Yuri tried to reason, irritated when Boris merely rolled his eyes. "I don't mean another escape attempt, he means to shut Biovolt down for good."

The boy opposite him sneered. "And you believe him? He betrayed us, don't forget that. And he's the Director's grandson, damn it." His hands were clenched on the table again.

"I trust him." It was an honest admission. Yuri had no reason _not_ to trust Kai, not now.

"You _what_?" Boris made a sound that resembled a distraught laugh. "So that's it then, is it?"

"You've lost me." Yuri murmured, unable to shake the feeling that he was completely misunderstanding the situation.

"Ever since the tournament you haven't once mentioned Hiwatari, you haven't even mentioned anything about getting messages out – you've just been doing it behind everyone's back. It's like you've forgotten who your friends are, _Ivanov_." A fist slammed onto the table and Yuri drew back slightly; Boris rarely ever called him purely by his last name, no matter how worked up he was. Surely the idea of escaping for good should have been a _joyful_ one? A thought crossed Yuri's mind and he took a wild guess at what had annoyed his friend so much.

"Borya, are you jealous?"

"Of _him_? Hell no." Boris spluttered, face flushing instantly. It was blatant lie that Yuri saw straight through. He was about to open his mouth when Boris stood up suddenly and snatched his half-empty bowl from the table, giving Yuri a disapproving glare that left him feeling cold. "I just hadn't realised we'd started keeping _secrets_ from each other, that's all."

* * *

If only he could understand that Yuri was acting in his best interests…


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer:** Beyblade is copyright Takao Aoki. I own nothing and am simply using his characters for fun.

**Warnings:** Angst, violence.

**Note:** Hinting at the darker side of Abbey life in this one.

_BeybladeLover339_ – Glad you're enjoying it!

* * *

When Yuri walked into his room one evening to see a dark-haired boy crying on the bottom bunk, he actually double-checked the door number to make sure he was in the right place. His outdoor coat was hung on the corner of the bed frame, but for a split-second the sight hadn't meant anything. Preparing himself for the worst, Yuri forced himself into his practised shroud of cold, hard indifference, and took a confident step into the room. The boy jumped when the door slammed.

"Who are you?" Yuri asked, failing to keep his irritation from his voice, his mind had already put forward the idea that the boy in front of him was his latest roommate. He didn't want another just yet; two years of living in such a confined area with Alexsandr had given him a good reason to appreciate having his own space. He wouldn't be able to keep his link to Kai a secret with someone else in the room, that much was certain.

The boy looked up, blinking away tears. A reddish mark marred his cheek and he carried dark shadows under his eyes that Yuri was sure matched his own. "Piotr." He hesitated for a second before jerking his hand forward and mashing together a garbled 'pleased to meet you'.

Yuri nodded but refused the handshake, the only boy he had heard of called Piotr had left the Abbey a little over a year ago. He didn't think he recognised the stranger sat in front of him which was odd, Yuri had an excellent memory for faces at least, though when he considered just how many boys came and left the Abbey without Yuri ever meeting them, the thought didn't mean much. "Care to explain why you're in my room?"

"This is 309, isn't it?" The boy asked back, wiping at his face with the cuff of his sleeve.

"It is. Are you my new roommate?" His cool facade wilted slightly when Piotr only managed a ghost of a smile and shook his head before fresh tears welled in his eyes.

With a sigh, Yuri perched on the edge of the mattress and rested his arms over his knees. "Why are you here?" He repeated, quickly becoming frustrated with the sobbing mess of a boy beside him. Piotr only looked a few years younger than him at the most, so should have known better than to display such an obvious sign of weakness.

"Fine." Yuri muttered eventually when it became clear he wasn't going to get a reply. "I have the top bunk, you sleep down here. And don't scream if you wake up to find someone else in the room." He'd given the same line to Aleksandr when he was pushed through the door for the first time, but the boy still came close to fainting when he opened his eyes one morning to see Boris sneering down at him.

Piotr nodded his acceptance of Yuri's terms, chewing absently on his lower lip in a way that implied he had something heavy on his mind. He didn't have the decency to look away as Yuri changed into his sleepwear – Yuri wouldn't have cared were it not for the fact that the boy was actually _staring_ – though he took some pleasure from the immediate flush in Piotr's cheeks when he shot an irritated glare across the room.

The boy gave a small cough once Yuri had settled under his bed sheets, and Yuri resisted the urge to groan, realising that Piotr was readying himself to finally talk. "I'm not your new roommate." He whispered.

"I already know that." Yuri said, rolling his eyes. "It doesn't explain why you're here though, does it?"

"Sergei said I could stay for tonight." Piotr seemed to have pulled confidence out of nowhere, his voice no longer holding the pathetic, wavering sorrow.

Wait…

"_Sergei_ sent you?" Yuri unfolded from his sheets and all but flung himself over the railing of his bunk, staring down at Piotr with disbelief. Sergei hadn't mentioned anything to him about the boy still perched on the lower bed, and though Yuri knew he was almost exhausted to the point of collapse, he knew he wasn't that far gone that he wouldn't remember Sergei telling him something so important.

Piotr fiddled with the loose threads of his mattress for a long, silent moment, before eventually tilting his head back to face Yuri. It didn't take long at all for the tears to spring back to his eyes, whatever confidence he had discovered previously draining away in an instant. Yuri knew he shouldn't, but he couldn't help but imagine what had happened to the boy to make him so upset in the first place, whether it was related to the fact that he couldn't apparently stay in his own room. He swore inwardly, confused and annoyed that Sergei had stepped in to help the boy by offering Yuri's instead; he was no carer, and from the muffled sniffling sounds coming from the bunk below, Piotr needed a lot of caring for.

Yuri lay back on his bunk, smothered his face with his pillow and tried to ignore the noise, even managed to convince himself he could hear nothing but silence for a few minutes, but Yuri was only human. Forcing a sigh through his nose he eventually relented, rolling over so he could peer over the bed rail again. "Stop crying, Piotr, for God's sake." It wasn't kind, but the Abbey had never been a place for kindness.

"Sorry-"

"Don't apologise either." Yuri bit out, interrupting before Piotr could stutter anything else.

"Sorr- I mean… Right." The boy gave a final sniff before his whimpering stopped altogether.

Yuri crossed his arms over the metal rail and smacked his forehead into his open hand. He cursed his older friend again, wondering why he'd been nominated him to look after Piotr – Sergei had always been the one to look after the other boys when they got into trouble.

He dropped the short distance to the floor, dragging his sheets down with him. "Move over." He ordered, standing expectantly at the side of Piotr's bunk. The boy stared up at him with wide eyes, and Yuri was almost taken aback by the fear he saw swirling behind them. "I won't bite."

"But…" Piotr swallowed thickly, something Yuri picked up on with a growing sense of concern. If Piotr should fear anyone it should be Valkov, not the boy who was supposed to be looking out for him. Aleksandr had clung to Yuri like a limpet when they had been roomed together, all too eager to please and do exactly what Yuri asked of him in order to take advantage of Yuri's status amongst the other boys in the Abbey. Nobody would bother you if you befriended someone powerful, after all.

Yet here was Piotr, kicked out of his room for a reason Yuri didn't care to find out, friendless and unwanted, cowering away from Yuri as if he were something hideous. Completely oblivious to the fact that Yuri was trying to _help_ him. It was quickly becoming apparent that Piotr was afraid of being so close to someone else, though Yuri put it down to simply not being used to it before his mind could wonder to other, _darker,_ possibilities.

Yuri huffed and dropped his arms to his sides, sheets pooling on the ground. "It's cold in here at night; there's a draft from the window." He explained slowly. "I normally take the sheets from your bunk as well – either move over and share or you can freeze to death in your sleep."

A shudder ran through Piotr's entire body. "What if we're caught?"

Yuri couldn't bring himself to tell Piotr the truth. "We won't be." He knew the chances of being disturbed during the night were less than slim, though certainly not impossible. The guards that patrolled the corridors did so in the hopes of catching someone out of their room after curfew, they very rarely bothered checking in the rooms themselves. Piotr hesitated for a long moment before finally shifting so that Yuri could slide in next to him, watching him arrange the sheets to cover both their bodies.

Yuri frowned as he thought back over the boy's words and wondered whether his fear of sharing a bunk was related to his fear of being caught doing so. Yuri wasn't naive; he knew precisely what could happen behind closed doors, knew from experience – and certainly not a pleasant one – just how _depraved_ certain boys in the Abbey could be. It was the same old adage; when you were that desperate to succeed, you were driven to manipulating and abusing others in any way possible to ensure your own survival. The weak faded whilst the strong thrived.

The punishment for the act was as just as heartless as the act itself, and no mercy was spared for the victim.

Exploitation aside, sharing a bunk was also one of the easiest and most effective ways of keeping warm during the night – one of the main reasons Yuri had been so irritated to have lost Aleksandr – and it offered a small shred of comfort in their otherwise miserable world. Unfortunately the guards were unable to recognise the difference.

Even though Yuri was on his side with his back to the younger boy, he could still sense that Piotr was lying completely rigid, seemingly unable to relax despite Yuri's reassurance.

"Are you still awake?" Piotr's quiet voice echoed in the silence of the room, and Yuri felt him move around until he could feel the boy's breath ghosting across the back of his neck.

Yuri nodded. "I don't sleep much."

"Oh." Piotr murmured lamely. Yuri half expected him to ask why, already preparing a lie that he had only needed minimal rest for as long as he could remember. In truth he rarely slept as he had far too much on his mind, in fact he craved a good night's sleep – would have done anything for it – if only his mind would allow him a moment of peace.

Silence fell again, and Yuri closed his eyes in a vain attempt to shut away his thoughts and trick himself into drifting off. It didn't work.

Piotr cleared his throat softly behind him. "Can we talk?"

That got his attention. Stunned, Yuri rolled over so that he could see Piotr's hopeful face, the fear had weakened but it was still clearly visible. "What about?"

"Anything. Where are you from?" Words blurted from the boy's mouth, far too eager to strike up a conversation.

Yuri figured it couldn't do much harm, if anything, talking to Piotr might actually help pass the time. "Saint Petersburg. You?"

"Smolensk." Piotr replied, not able to hide the hint of longing in his tone. In all honesty, Yuri had no idea where Smolensk was, whether it was a town or a city or something in between, but he nodded his understanding regardless.

He ended up talking with Piotr until the boy finally succumbed to exhaustion, envious that Piotr had been resisting the urge to yawn for well over an hour and yet Yuri couldn't even remember what it felt like to sleep.

He'd learnt that the boy came from a very poor family, his parents barely able to afford to keep him in school let alone feed and clothe him. Yuri wasn't surprised that they had fallen for the intricately woven lies that had lured many other desperate mothers and fathers into giving their children over to Biovolt. The company promised a future and a purpose for children who deserved a better start in life, yet the sheer reality of it was nothing like that promise.

Piotr had taken up an interest in blading as a hobby when he was eight years old and his parents did all they could to encourage his enthusiasm; Yuri imagined they all but leapt at the chance to push their son into Valkov's open arms. He'd been at the Abbey for six years, proving Yuri's estimate of his age to be almost perfect, though it had turned out that he wasn't overly skilled when it came down to it. It explained why Yuri had never actually heard of or seen the boy, but left Yuri confused; wasn't it the first rule that if you didn't meet the standard you were no longer welcome in the Abbey? Either Piotr was just scraping through his training, or Valkov had developed a soft spot.

Yuri almost laughed at the idea.

After a lot of persuasion on Yuri's part, Piotr had quietly admitted that his lack of progression had been dragging his training group down, holding the other boys back. His actual roommate had taken out his frustration on Piotr himself, though thankfully Sergei had removed him from the situation before it got worse. Yuri felt his lip curl in disgust at Sergei's actions; you didn't learn anything from being protected by others.

If it had been Yuri, he would have let Piotr take his beating, the memory of it would then motivate him to try harder, to push himself further. By taking the boy out of harm's way, Sergei had effectively told Piotr that it was alright to fail, though he would have no chance of surviving the Abbey with that belief.

The boy had asked to see Wolborg, eyes widening in awe when Yuri removed her from his jacket and tentatively pressed her into Piotr's hand. In a rare show of generosity, and perhaps a little curious, Yuri had called on Wolborg's power, watching as Piotr marvelled the shimmering ice that danced over his palm. The beyblade he'd been given himself was nothing special – standard issue with no colour or markings, apparently primed equally for endurance and defence – though Piotr said that he wasn't even sure himself what his blading style was.

Yuri lay awake for what felt like hours after Piotr eventually fell asleep, curled up against Yuri's side for warmth. He sighed heavily, staring up at the slats under his own mattress. Piotr was… _Unusual_. For lack of a better word. Yuri had seen enough new recruits to the Abbey to know that the only thing on their minds within the first few months of joining was that they needed to be stronger, be faster, be _better_ than those around them. He'd been no different himself. Within a year of joining, you developed a 'do or die' mentality, a sign that survival instinct had kicked in. The younger and weaker boys trained in set groups, similar skill levels brought together to fight it out between themselves, the winners moving up in rank and the losers never being seen again.

It wasn't until you had picked your way through the lower levels, ruthlessly destroying your opponents without mercy or care for their wellbeing – after all, they were merely another stepping stone towards your ultimate goal – that you stood a chance of being selected by Valkov for the intense, personalised training programme the Abbey offered. Yuri could still remember the day Valkov had smugly applauded him in one of the larger training halls, the last boy standing after a gruelling day-long session that had pitted every boy in his group against each other in a free-for-all battle. Even now, eight years later, he still felt oddly sickened by the strange sense of _pride_ he'd felt in that moment, knowing that he was the victor and that all the other boys he had spent the past year with were inferior to him.

He wasn't sure if it was wrong of him, but Yuri couldn't help but feel sympathy for the boy that had attacked Piotr, able to understand all too well the frustration he must have felt. To be so desperate to move upwards, to prove himself, to survive… Yuri wasn't surprised that he had wanted to remove the one obstacle holding him back. Yuri knew he would have wanted to do the same.

As he closed his eyes, the warmth at his side – not Boris, but still somewhat comforting – finally luring him towards a much welcomed sleep, a faintly familiar face flickered in Yuri's mind. The reason he could sympathise with the boy that had tried to attack Piotr because he had done the same, the only difference was that he had been able to get away with it.

A part of Yuri still regretted his actions, so many years later. Not because he felt guilty – getting revenge in such a way wasn't frowned upon, not by Valkov at least – but because Sergei had never quite looked at him the same way since.

* * *

Next up, Yuri gets something he's been waiting for…


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer:** Beyblade is copyright Takao Aoki. I own nothing and am simply using his characters for fun.

**Warnings:** Angst, violence.

**Note:** Just a short one this time.

_some stuff_ – Thanks again for your lovely reviews!

* * *

Three weeks after Yuri's confession, Boris was still avoiding him like he had the plague. The boy had thrown himself back into training with barely a moments rest, and if ever Yuri tried to sit with him on the rare occasion their short meal breaks coincided, Boris' instant reaction was to stand up and leave, whether he'd finished eating or not.

Yuri sighed, watching Boris walk away from him yet again. He let his head fall into his upturned palm and closed his eyes. He was so _tired_ it was almost unbelievable. A week ago, Valkov had returned from Saint Petersburg filled with rage, and had taken it out on the first boy whose performance results he'd looked over – namely Yuri himself – and for Boris' sake Yuri had no choice but to work himself to exhaustion.

Someone jabbed him sharply in the back of his head and he jerked forwards, glaring in response to Vasily's lazy grin as the boy took the seat beside him.

"Here, got something to cheer you up." Vasily whispered, sliding his tray onto the table and eyeing up Yuri's half empty bowl. "I know how much you love the taste of this muck."

Yuri watched with disdain as Vasily swapped his own bowl, full to the brim, with the remains of Yuri's supper. He'd struggled to get half way through his own, so what the older boy expected him to do with the food in front of him was a complete mystery. At least until Vasily's eyes very deliberately darted to the bottom of the bowl and he actually understood what the boy was doing.

They ate in silence, or Vasily did at least as he finished off Yuri's leftovers, Yuri just picked around in the watery soup with his slice of bread, itching to get back to his room and read Kai's response. When Vasily had finished, he made an act of collecting Yuri's tray for him, tilting it upwards for just long enough to cover Yuri from prying eyes as he slid the folded envelope from under his bowl and into his coat.

After a gruelling evening sprint in the gymnasium with wires and cables feeding data from his body onto a computer, Yuri skipped the opportunity to wash and all but ran back to the relative safety of his room, collapsing under his window and tearing into the envelope like a starving man to food.

Just as he had sorted the blank sheets from Kai's actual letter – two this time – the shadow of boots appeared through the crack under his door. With little thought, Yuri rammed the letter and the envelope down the back of his trousers as he jumped to his feet.

Boris peered around the door, didn't bother to knock first, and eyed him up where he stood before squinting at him. "What _are_ you doing?"

Yuri took a second to consider himself, no doubt he looked suspicious and in desperate need of a wash. Annoyance curled in his gut when he remembered that Boris had been ignoring him for weeks, and he couldn't help but bite back at his friend.

"I thought we weren't talking?" He asked, narrowing his eyes and making his way to the door, planting one foot heavily against the wood to stop Boris pushing it open any further. As much as he desperately wanted to speak to Boris, to shout at him for ignoring him, to have the comfort his mere presence had always offered, the need to read Kai's reply overrode everything else in his mind.

Boris sighed, and Yuri very nearly relented. "About that…" He trailed off, catching Yuri's eye and trying to convey his apology without having to verbalise it.

Yuri played stupid and pretended not to pick up on the message. He quirked an eyebrow at the boy in the doorway and waited impatiently for him to continue.

Awkwardly, Boris shifted in the small space and tried to move the door open a little further with his elbow. He frowned when it didn't budge. "What the hell, Yura… Why won't you let me in?"

"Why should I?" Yuri snarled. If Boris wasn't so squashed he was sure the boy would have staggered back in shock. _Nobody_ spoke back to Boris Kuznetsov, not even Yuri, so powerful was the fear he invoked. The only person Yuri had ever known to get away with it was Sergei, and that was probably only because he was twice their size.

Boris spluttered, torn between anger and confusion. He tried to speak but his words mangled together and came out as an agonised groan. Instead he settled for sagging helplessly between the door and the frame as if the wood alone were holding him upright.

"What's bothering you?" He asked quietly, staring down at the door handle that was obviously digging uncomfortably in his hip, unable to alleviate the pressure unless Yuri moved his foot first.

Yuri gave an over dramatised sigh, even by his standards, a lie sliding easily from his tongue. "I'm tired, I need to sleep, that's all. Can't you come back tomorrow?"

Boris looked straight into his eyes and considered the request carefully, rolling it over in his mind for a long moment before he eventually gave in with a curt nod and tried to back out of the doorway with limited success. When he finally stumbled free, cheeks flushed lightly from embarrassment, Yuri might have laughed at how ridiculous his friend looked were he not so caught up in his thoughts about Kai and his letter.

Just as Yuri thought he was about to leave, he stuck his head back into the room. "Can I just – what's that?"

Yuri noticed then that he'd made a big mistake; turning his back _before_ Boris had shut his door. He felt the letter being torn away from his waistband, and whirled around to snatch it back. Boris' eyes widened so much they nearly bulged from their sockets as he realised what he was holding.

Boris swore so loudly that even the boy in the room opposite Yuri's stuck his head out into the corridor. Yuri cursed every deity he had ever heard about, which wasn't actually that many, and yanked Boris into his room by the collar so he could forcefully slam his door shut.

Before he'd even taken notice of the fact that Boris had actually _dropped_ the letter and wasn't reading it, Yuri slammed his fist into his unsuspecting friend's jaw and sent him tumbling to the ground with a grunt.

Yuri grabbed at the splayed paper and crumpled it into his pockets as adrenaline surged through his veins, expecting Boris to stand up at any moment and retaliate for the unprovoked attack. He did nothing. Yuri paced his tiny room, forcefully breathing though his nose and wringing his hands to get himself back under control. Boris did nothing. He rinsed his hands in the freezing water from the basin and rubbed them over his face. Still, infuriatingly, Boris did absolutely nothing.

He hit him a second time, a raw shout tearing from his throat as he backhanded Boris across his temple with a fist that he wished wasn't his own. Boris' head jerked to the side with the impact, but he didn't otherwise react. When Yuri tore his coat from its hook on the corner of the bunk and flung it at Boris in anger, Yuri heard the heavy metal buckles whip across the back of his skull, but Boris merely reached up and gently pulled the coat away from his face, sighing at the material pooled in his lap. He just sat rigid and took Yuri's abuse, almost as though he deserved it.

"_Do something_!" Yuri yelled, far too close to Boris' face, as if every single ounce of fury he had ever felt – towards Biovolt's entire existence, towards Valkov's crippling regime and the fact that the man had dared to use his friend as a means to blackmail him, towards every technician and medical assistant that had ever dared to say he wasn't pushing himself far enough, towards _himself _for even thinking he could wrangle a way out of the Abbey for all of them – as if it had all just come gushing from his mouth in one frantic, unrestrained burst.

But Boris, his closest friend ever since he'd run into him that cold day in Saint Petersburg's market and Boris had offered up an entire half of the food he had scavenged because he'd seen just how _useless_ Yuri was at stealing. The boy who had agreed to join Valkov despite his reservations just so that Yuri wouldn't be alone, who had stayed awake for him at night when he was afraid, who had taken punishments for him when Yuri couldn't stand any more yet still cared for him afterwards despite his own wounds, who had suffered with him through each and every moment of the hell they lived in and still refused to leave his side. That boy just _sat_ there.

It suddenly stuck Yuri that he'd never once hit Boris out of anger before.

A tense silence settled between them, only broken by Yuri's heavy, gasping breaths as he stared down at the unmoving figure on the ground.

"Maybe," Yuri paused to swallow, his voice sounded thick with an emotion he didn't want to put a name to. "Maybe you should just go." He didn't mean it, he didn't _want_ Boris to leave, but he couldn't stand the thought of hurting him again.

"Yeah." One word and a simple nod, nothing more, and Boris was on his feet and walking away.

Yuri didn't move, could scarcely dare to _breathe_, for he had seen such an extreme sadness in Boris' eyes that he thought his heart might explode from the intensity of it. The small click of the door easing shut rang loudly in his ears. What was _wrong_ with him? Was it not enough that Boris was unknowingly taking Yuri's punishments every time he missed a target? Did he have to hurt him directly as well?

"Yura, listen…" Boris' voice was muffled by the door between them, but it still sounded drained, exhausted, and Yuri closed his eyes, feeling horribly cruel for his treatment of his friend. "I get that you don't want to tell me what's going on, or maybe you _can't_, and that's fine…"

He waited a long, uncomfortable moment, would have believed that Boris had just walked away and left it at that were it not for the shadow still lingering under his door. He heard the boy heave a heavy sigh and something thudded against the wood, his fist perhaps. His next words carried a silent plea that burned in Yuri's mind.

"I just want you to know you can still trust me."

Not once since they'd met had Yuri ever doubted it, he only wished it were that easy.

* * *

Thoughts so far?


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer:** Beyblade is copyright Takao Aoki. I own nothing and am simply using his characters for fun.

**Warnings:** Angst, violence.

**Note:** A double update just for you! (Don't forget to read Chapter 9 first!)

* * *

Kai's letter was a complicated request. He'd already set things in motion but, in order to actually bring Biovolt down, he needed more information and there was little he could get from outside the Abbey gates.

Yuri had been confused at first, had to re-read the letter more than once before it fully sank in just what Kai was asking from him. He needed _evidence_; cold, hard proof that the Abbey wasn't just a children's home that encouraged their passion for beyblading as the rest of the outside world seemed to believe. The first thing that had jumped into Yuri's head had been about their punishments, for surely the level of physical abuse they endured wasn't typical of a children's home. If he could just get a record of exactly what their discipline involved, Kai may be able to use that as evidence against Valkov at least.

Ideas had been running through Yuri's mind all night, keeping him awake despite his exhaustion, but he was still no closer to coming up with a solution or a plan to get Kai what he needed.

He'd spent his morning and the majority of the afternoon in the gymnasium under the watchful but woefully untrained eye of one of the junior assistants, and guessed he had run a good few miles over what his programme dictated as the assistant had been unable to properly work the computers that recorded his data.

Yuri didn't mind too much, barely focusing on the blundering man as his attention had been drawn to the other side of the hall where Sergei was lifting weights. He'd always been in awe of the boy's strength; the wall of muscle that made up his chest could probably put a man ten years older than him to shame. Sergei had caught his eye once or twice, and Yuri had nearly tripped off his treadmill at the shock of being caught staring.

Vasily had wondered into the hall a few hours after Sergei had started, settling himself on the seat of a rowing machine and rolling gently from side to side, and they had been involved in a quiet conversation until Yuri had finally been permitted to leave for lunch. Yuri had been too far away to hear their words, but he'd seen the deep-set concern on Sergei's face clearly enough. Whatever they were talking about, Sergei hadn't liked it. The pair had left by the time Yuri returned to resume his session in the afternoon.

Yuri's mind wondered back to Vasily again when he left the gymnasium. He didn't know too much about him, other than that he was around Sergei's age, if not a little older, and that they had both joined the Abbey at about the same time. Vasily had been on the roster for the main team alongside Sergei three years ago, but had never actually played; according to Vasily, the technicians had made some serious miscalculations when designing and creating his beyblade that had left him unable to compete in that year's tournament. Yuri had always thought there had been more to the story than the boy had let on as Valkov would never have allowed the design team to get away with failing to meet deadlines. By the time Yuri joined the team the following year, Vasily had been removed from the list.

It seemed, to Yuri at least, that Vasily was heavily involved in what was quietly referred to as the illicit smuggling circle in the Abbey. A team of boys who worked to get messages and other requested items through the Abbey's security, both into and out of the building. Yuri had even heard that Vasily was involved somehow in a number of escape attempts, and though it had only been rumour, Yuri couldn't help but feel there was some truth to it. Vasily seemed to know a lot about the Abbey and about Biovolt, more than he _should_ have known, and he didn't come across as the sort of person to ignore someone asking for help.

Which was why, in the early evening when Yuri was finished with his meal, he set out to find the boy in the hope that he would be able to shed some light on Kai's request. Yuri hadn't the faintest idea where Valkov might keep the evidence Kai needed, but he knew the man most likely kept a record of everything that went on in the Abbey and assumed it was locked up somewhere safe. He just needed to find out _where_.

He found Vasily outside in the paved area at the back of the Abbey, coaching a young boy – too young, in Yuri's opinion – how to properly load and fire his launcher without losing control of his beyblade. Yuri stood back and watched, couldn't help but feel touched by Vasily's desire to help, something that only sparked new questions in his mind.

It was impossible to deny that Vasily was a good blader, both in terms of his practical skill and his vast knowledge of the sport. He had been good enough to make the main team, and yet after whatever had occurred three years ago, Valkov didn't seem to bother with the boy any longer. That was strange in itself, since as far as Yuri was aware, if you were no longer of any use to Valkov, you were shown to the door. But Vasily was still very much a part of the Abbey, and will still allowed the freedom to move around and use the facilities just as much as anyone else. Yuri found it difficult to understand from Vasily's point of view as well. If what he thought were true, and Vasily was no longer being trained, then there was nothing preventing the boy from walking out through the Abbey's gates and living his life as he wished. Instead, Vasily had chosen to stay – but _why_?

Yuri wondered whether the boy felt a sense of loyalty to those he had helped smuggle things through the Abbey's walls, whether he felt obliged to stay for as long as he possibly could in order to continue his work behind the scenes. If that was the case, then Yuri respected him for it – loyalty was a rare quality amongst the boys at the Abbey. The concept of 'survival of the fittest' certainly rang true, and you were always more likely to survive if you were willing to step on other people to keep yourself out of the firing line.

He realised suddenly that Vasily was staring straight into his eyes, or more that Yuri had been staring straight at the other boy for longer than he'd intended, and an easy smile settled on Vasily's lips as he made his way to Yuri's side.

"He's got potential." Vasily murmured, nodding his head back to the boy now practising his launch alone. "He'll make the team one day, I'm sure of it."

Yuri merely nodded, wondering whether it was right that the single ambition of nearly everyone at the Abbey was to make it onto the main team. It was difficult to get on the roster, even more so to stay on it, and you had a very long way to fall should you make a mistake – both Boris and himself had learnt that.

"You waiting for me?" The question drew Yuri back from his thoughts and reminded him of the reason he was stood outside in the cold.

"I wanted to ask you something." Yuri asked quietly, a frown forming on his face. He'd decided that Vasily was probably the best person to speak to, but hadn't spared much thought for what he actually wanted to say.

Vasily shrugged, tucking his hands in his pockets and waiting patiently for Yuri to speak, prompting him when he didn't offer up anything straight away. "Go ahead."

Yuri glanced around the paved area, Vasily and the younger boy weren't the only ones practising in the snow. "Not here – somewhere quiet."

Vasily nodded in understanding, apparently he'd been working behind the scenes for long enough now to pick up on Yuri's subtle hint.

Yuri followed the boy back up to the third floor, hesitating when Vasily stopped by his and Sergei's shared room. He certainly didn't want to talk about his ideas in front of Sergei, his friend would no doubt demand he stop trying to help Kai as he would only end up getting hurt for his efforts. He was probably right. Thankfully, Vasily noticed his apprehension without him having to voice it and reassured him that Sergei was elsewhere, opening the door and encouraging Yuri inside.

Their room was only slightly bigger than Yuri's, though they did have the disadvantage of having to share the space. Yuri's own roommate, Aleksandr, had disappeared not long before the championship matches started; he'd heard that Valkov had forced him to challenge one of the Bladebreakers, but wasn't sure what had happened to him after. Sergei's jacket was flung on the bottom bunk and Vasily hooked it over the ladder instead, perching on the edge of the mattress and patting the space next to him for Yuri to sit.

"I…" Yuri had absolutely no idea what to say. He knew what he _wanted_ to ask, but had no idea how to actually ask it. It wasn't every day that you planned to go behind Valkov's back and dig through the man's private files, after all.

"Is this about Kai?" Vasily asked easily, as if he were just asking how Yuri felt about the weather. The boy made it all seem so simple.

Yuri nodded. "I need to send him some… Information." He didn't want to go into detail, Kai had warned him against it, and as much as he respected Vasily he wasn't entirely convinced he could _trust_ him. The boy was involved in a lot of people's business, and all it would take was one careless slip of his tongue to the wrong person and Yuri's plans could unravel right before his eyes.

Vasily pursed his lips and scratched at his chin in thought. "This 'information' – I'm guessing it's not just something _anyone_ can get hold of?"

"No." It most certainly wasn't. If he thought the details Kai needed could be easily obtained the next time he was near a computer station, he wouldn't have sought Vasily out in the first place. "I don't suppose you would know where our personal files are kept?"

"Personal files…" Vasily trailed off, shooting Yuri a perplexed look before he abruptly barked with laughter. Yuri immediately felt offended, unsure what Vasily found so amusing – surely Valkov kept records of their training _somewhere_? The boy brought himself back under control a moment later, wiping at his eyes with his palms before apologising. "It's just that, well, that sort of thing is kept in Valkov's office. You've got no chance of getting in there – you know what he's like with security, he's got guards on every corner."

Yuri knew Vasily was right, he wouldn't be able to get into Valkov's office without a very good reason, and he knew even if he had the opportunity to go there to speak to Valkov, if he made up some lie about his training, the man was hardly going to let him be whilst he poked around for something useful. He _certainly_ wasn't going to let him walk out with anything.

Dejected, Yuri sighed. He'd need to think of something else then. Perhaps if he could get his training record from one of the technicians, Kai could put that forward to prove just how overworked they were, that beyblading wasn't just a passion to Biovolt, but a stepping stone to something bigger. It wouldn't be as good as being able to prove that Valkov was a cruel and violent man who wasn't beyond beating children who didn't even understand their mistakes, but it might still be enough.

He thanked the boy sitting next to him and stood up, about to leave for his own room to rethink his options when Vasily hummed thoughtfully behind him and caught his attention again. Yuri paused, watching the boy move to the window to glance out at the grounds.

"One piece of advice, Yuri." Vasily murmured, keeping his back to the door. "Don't try and do it alone."

Yuri managed a curt nod and had to force his legs to move.

Sergei was only a few feet from the door when Yuri left, seemingly stunned by the fact that Yuri had been in his room. Yuri gave him the briefest greeting, mind already working overtime as he processed Vasily's words. The boy had implied that it might actually be possible to get in to Valkov's office, but he would need help from someone. The first thing he needed to do was find someone insane enough to try.

Yuri could feel Sergei staring at him from the other end of the corridor when he got to his own room, and he looked back to catch his friend's eye. Sergei glanced away just as Yuri made contact and disappeared through his door.

He didn't want to believe it, but Yuri couldn't quite shake the niggling feeling that Sergei had been listening outside his room the entire time.

* * *

Can you guess who might help?


	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer:** Beyblade is copyright Takao Aoki. I own nothing and am simply using his characters for fun.

**Warnings:** Angst, violence.

**Note:** The next few chapters are almost complete, so should be able to update this pretty quickly.

* * *

The assistant who usually oversaw Yuri's fortnightly medical appointments wasn't available, or so he'd been told, and apparently nobody was free to replace him. As a result, Yuri had been gifted with an hour long period of respite that morning, half of which he'd wasted staring down at his breakfast.

His mind was awash with so many things; meaningless numbers and jumbled performance targets, his angry outburst at Boris a few days ago, Valkov's insistence that he wasn't training hard enough despite the fact that he'd increased in nearly all of his measurable statistics and he was physically and mentally incapable of doing more, the constant risk of failure and the threat to Boris' life, the prospect of finding his personal file, Kai's letter – always Kai's letter – and everything had coalesced in his mind in such a garbled way that he was literally sitting at the table thinking about absolutely nothing because he was mentally incapable of handling it all.

He needed to sleep. Preferably for a very, _very_ long time.

Yuri jumped when a presence appeared at his side, completely oblivious to the boy's approaching footsteps, and couldn't quite fathom why Boris had chosen to sit next to him rather than opposite. Even Boris looked just as perplexed as he felt, repeatedly glancing over his shoulder to check the rest of the hall.

Boris cleared his throat, opened his mouth to speak, but apparently thought better of it. The bruises Yuri had left him with were fading well and Yuri was thankful, for he'd hated having to look at them. There were fresh cuts and scrapes on Boris' hands, their pattern familiar, and Yuri wondered why the boy had taken to training without wearing his gloves – the metal shrapnel that flew from the dish when a beyblade was shattered was extremely sharp.

His eyes were caught by a long tear in Boris' sleeve, patched up with sloppy stitching. Boris' own handiwork, he assumed, Valkov hadn't employed a tailor. He got the distinct feeling that below that tear lay a painful gash in Boris' skin, but didn't have the desire or the energy to ask and find out. He would only be told to forget about it anyway.

Boris ate in silence, leaving the space between them clear for Yuri to talk if he wanted to. Yuri wasn't entirely sure whether what he felt was gratitude for Boris' support, or annoyance that the boy was treating him like he was fragile. Or a ticking bomb seemed more apt; Boris didn't look completely comfortable sat with him, and Yuri feared Boris was waiting cautiously, prepared to leap away from him the next time he lashed out. Time fled quicker than he wanted, and just as Boris scraped the last forkful of his breakfast from his plate, the intercom system barked his name.

Without thinking, Yuri slammed his hand down on top of the boy's own just as he stood, more forceful than intended, and he didn't miss the way Boris winced. "I have to do this alone, Borya," He whispered quietly, only a partial lie, hoping to have said so much more but he'd been unable to find the right words. He needed help, yes, but Boris wasn't the person who could help him. God, if they got caught….

Boris' hand twisted beneath his own, until his fist was gripped tightly in Boris' calloused palm. "I know." There was a hint of regret that the boy had been unable to cover completely. He leaned down until his forehead brushed against Yuri's hair, words barely above a whisper. "Just promise you'll not do anything stupid. It's not worth it."

He only managed a small nod, unable to verbalise such a promise when he already knew he couldn't keep it. Boris sighed, realising that his words had fallen on deaf ears, and walked away.

The pressure he felt constantly pressing down on him was causing Yuri to fall apart at the seams. He was showing weakness, and Valkov didn't appreciate weakness.

He took his tray to the hatch at the back of the hall, his plate looked exactly as it had done when he had picked it up, and ignored the fact that he was going to arrive at the training centre ten minutes early. As he locked Wolborg into his launcher, he guessed Valkov might be pleased with his eagerness, though he sincerely doubted it.

Ivan walked in just as he was leaving the hall, flanked by a tall, wiry boy Yuri didn't recognise. Ivan was dwarfed in comparison – together they looked like a figure one and a full stop.

"Look sharp, captain." Ivan called jovially as he passed, giving Yuri that contagious grin of his.

Yuri responded by lifting his arm and mimicking shooting Ivan between the eyes with his launcher. The boy laughed, mock saluted, and invited him back to the West wing if he wasn't busy that evening. A smile ghosted across Yuri's lips.

It wasn't until over an hour into training, when he was smashing his way through substandard issue beyblades like he were launching Wolborg through thin air, that he was hit by a thought as solid and unforgiving as a concrete wall. The resulting overload of enlightenment that sparked fireworks in his mind led him to accidentally call up Wolborg and unwittingly destroy the automated launcher he faced and half of the brickwork behind.

Needless to say, he spent the entire afternoon powering though torturous circuits in the gymnasium under Valkov's own beady, condescending gaze just to make up for it. But he didn't care much, barely noticed the sweat pouring down his face or the burn in every muscle fibre in his body, could hardly hear Valkov's menacing threats or feel the man's hot breath on his cheek when he loomed over him, because Ivan still viewed him as the captain, and that was something he could easily use to his advantage.

Yuri wasn't expecting to see Sergei standing in the middle of the corridor when he returned to his room, and was utterly stunned when the taller boy lurched forward and slammed him back against his door. He gagged at the hand tangled in his collar, Sergei's fist raised and blind panic stole his breath away. Yuri flinched as the fist pounded against the wood just shy of his head and the door shook from the impact.

"Tell me why Valkov has asked me to watch you." Sergei demanded. Yuri shrank under the anger and betrayal that scowled down at him. He _must_ have overheard the conversation Yuri had with Vasily, there was no other reason for Sergei to get so irate. Valkov asked them to spy on each other all the time and report directly back to him – Yuri had done so nearly a dozen times – so Sergei was surely no stranger to such a request.

Perhaps he just wanted to hear it in Yuri's own words.

Taking a gulp of air and setting his jaw, Yuri stared right into Sergei's eyes and offered up nothing but intense determination. Seconds passed, minutes flew by, and a cold gust ricocheted through the corridor. He wouldn't say a single thing – _couldn't_ say a single thing – Sergei would only try to talk him out of it.

Finally Sergei backed off, and Yuri discretely gasped a breath, wanting to scratch at the pressure he still felt on his neck. Sergei didn't spare him a second glance as he walked back down the corridor.

Just as Yuri managed to regain enough control of himself to rest his hand on the door handle, Sergei's words stopped him short, seconds away from opening it.

"Whatever you're doing, Yuri, Valkov's starting to suspect you. And don't think I haven't noticed the effect it's having on Boris either." Yuri didn't turn around, not even the slightest bit surprised that Sergei had noticed Boris' unwarranted punishments; Sergei knew precisely how the Abbey worked. He could feel Sergei's hard gaze on the back of his head and swallowed thickly. "Don't forget there are some people I _can't_ protect you from."

He didn't expect Sergei to try.

Yuri collapsed on his bunk without bothering to change, pulling his knees up to his chest and burying himself under his sheets.

* * *

He was standing in the night, surrounded by nothing but dark, misty sky and fresh snow for as far as he could see. It wasn't cold; in fact, Yuri could barely feel a breeze at all. Curious, he gave an experimental huff, watching as his breath fogged and took a while to fade.

Picking a direction on instinct, Yuri began to walk. Snow crunched under his bare feet, and he glanced down to see that he was dressed in his sleepwear.

He could have been walking for hours or only a few minutes, it was difficult to tell with only the darkness above him and the brilliant white snow below. Either way, all Yuri had been able to discover was that the scenery around him stretched out forever, nothing had changed no matter where he tried to walk.

Confusion settled in his mind, and he came to the conclusion that he must have been dreaming, despite it being nothing like any other dream he had experienced before.

A weight settled around his waist and something heavy dropped into his pocket. Without thinking, Yuri plucked it out, staring at Wolborg in his palm and realising he was now wearing his tournament uniform. His blade seemed to glow an eerie blue. He closed his eyes and tried to make sense of what was going on; for a dream, it all felt surprisingly _real_.

When he opened his eyes, Wolborg was spinning before him, creating a slight whirlwind that had gathered the nearby snow. His launcher and ripcord were clutched tightly in his hands, but he couldn't recall even setting his blade in the lock, let alone firing her.

He was momentarily blinded as light shot upwards from the bit-chip, forcing him to shield his face with his arm. The ice wolf herself was standing before him, powerful and majestic. Almost immediately he felt warmed by her presence, so familiar and comforting.

Her aura shimmered, fading slightly and he was sure that if he squinted, he could make out a figure standing where she had. A gentle, female voice filtered through his mind; soothing, but he couldn't understand her words. The figure shifted, moving a little closer, until he could recognise the outline of a woman. Something was telling him the voice he could hear belonged to her, but he couldn't see her lips moving.

He wondered if he should have felt cautious, fearful even – he had no idea who this woman was, after all – but he couldn't quite find it in himself to feel anything other than peaceful.

The closer she came, the more he wondered whether he _did_ know who she was. But that was impossible, unless…

A faint knocking echoed around him and Yuri frowned, distracted, glancing out at the vast expense of snow but seeing nothing. The knocking persisted despite Yuri's efforts to block it out, only becoming louder and more insistent until he could no longer ignore it. The image of Wolborg and the strange woman burst and vanished, snapping him of his obscure dream with a sharp gasp. He realised slowly that the knocking had been coming from the other side of his door.

Stumbling down the ladder with his sheets still tangled around him, Yuri yanked the door open and was nearly bowled down by the boy that rushed in, tripping over Yuri's feet and sprawling on the floor.

"Piotr?" Yuri asked, not bothering to hide his shock. He hadn't seen nor heard from the boy since he had spent the night on the bottom bunk weeks ago, and certainly wasn't expecting to see him again.

He barely had a second to shut his door before Piotr flung himself forwards, wrapping his arms around Yuri's shoulders and collapsing against him. Yuri forcefully shoved him off, disgust rising in his throat, and Piotr stumbled back, eyes filled with apologies and tears.

Yuri blinked, disbelief pulling at his face. Was this boy – this weak, stammering, _whining_ little boy – honestly a member of the Abbey? A thought crossed his mind; he must have still been dreaming. Surely Piotr wasn't really in his room, sobbing on his floor. Surely Sergei hadn't stepped in to help this… This _baby_?

"I'm sorry, I'm… Yuri – _thank you_. I couldn't think where else to go." Trembling words trailed off into sniffles.

Yuri could think of a few places.

He pushed his frustration to the back of his mind and forced himself to think logically. Piotr was clearly upset, afraid; the last time he had sought solace in Yuri's room had been when his training partner had attacked him, and the blackened swelling around his right eye that Yuri could see even in the darkness hinted that he had returned for the same reason.

He signalled to the bottom bunk, watching as Piotr staggered over and slumped on the edge only to bury his face in his hands again and cry. An irritated huff escaped Yuri's lips; he wasn't in a position to look after the boy now, had his own worries to deal with. He wanted to find out who the woman in his dream had been, though he had a fair idea. And the information Kai needed wasn't going to send itself, was it?

"What happened?" He asked eventually, figuring that Piotr stood no chance of going to sleep if he couldn't stop crying.

Piotr glanced up, caught Yuri in a long, sorrowful gaze, before he launched into a garbled account of what had occurred in the last hour. Yuri had difficulty deciphering his words, despite asking the boy to repeat them, gradually becoming more and more impatient with his hiccupping and sniffing as he tried to speak. From what he was able to gather, his swollen eye was thanks to the same boy that had attacked him previously; the one who saw Piotr only as an obstacle on his way to success.

Yuri felt torn between kicking Piotr out of his room – Yuri wasn't there to comfort him – and a desire to do what he could to help. It wouldn't be right of him to step in, not in the Abbey, Piotr needed to learn how to fix his own problems and look after himself. He was only a few years younger than Yuri after all, should have long since grown out of cowering behind someone stronger. Yuri knew he'd been correct in his assumption; Sergei's actions had given Piotr the belief that failure was acceptable when, in reality, nothing was further from the truth.

"I just wish he would disappear, Yuri, I really do!" Piotr's last words came across as more of a desperate, high-pitched squeal than anything else, though he didn't seem to notice the way Yuri winced at the noise.

Sighing and rubbing a hand over his face and through his hair, Yuri relented. "What's his name?" He asked carefully, forcing his voice and expression blank lest he accidentally give Piotr the wrong idea. He was only curious, so far hadn't actually planned to do much once he found out.

Piotr met his eyes with a glimmer of hope, wiping the tears from his face with his cuff. "Anton Vitaliev. He's in 312 in the West Wing and-"

"Stop talking." Yuri spat, harsher than intended, but he'd wanted to stop the boy before he revealed anymore. Yuri couldn't help but feel that Piotr had just signed his roommate's death wish.

Yuri turned to look though his window, catching sight of his reflection, his brow furrowed in thought. Anton Vitaliev… He'd heard the name, couldn't put a face to it, but knew that the boy was nothing more than an arrogant teenager; far too ambitious, far too prideful. The sort of boy who believed he was born on top of the world and deserved to be honoured as such. The sort of boy that annoyed everyone and didn't often tend to last long.

Piotr paused where he was washing his tears away at the basin, and fixed Yuri with an optimistic, encouraging, _knowing_ glance that made him look years older than he was. He swallowed, seemingly hesitant to ask a question, and Yuri braced himself for what he knew was coming next. "What would you want me to do?"

Because in the Abbey, _everything_ had a price.

Yuri was somewhat stunned that Piotr had the courage to ask and wondered whether had a been a little harsh in thinking the boy was pathetic. In the back of his mind, the memory of the last time Piotr had stayed flickered to life again; his reluctance to share a bunk with Yuri and the potential reason behind his fear.

Even though the thought sickened him, Yuri couldn't help but wonder just how far the boy was willing to go. "Let me think about it."

Piotr nodded silently, drying his face and hands on his shirt and hovering awkwardly in the middle of the room. Yuri realised he was waiting for permission to move, no different to how Aleksandr had been at first, and he merely flicked his hand in the direction of the bottom bunk before climbing back onto his own mattress.

He lay awake for hours, as usual, unable to return to the dream he'd had about Wolborg and instead hanging over the edge of his bed and watching Piotr grimace in his sleep. Nightmares, no doubt, something they were all familiar with. He sighed, pressing his forehead against the cool metal rail. He could do something about Anton easily enough, boys disappeared all the time and nobody ever bothered to investigate why. He wouldn't get his own hands dirty, of course not, Yuri knew exactly who to talk to and could 'accidentally' let the boy's name slip from his tongue.

Calm, casual and indifferent; nobody would suspect a thing.

The question was whether he _wanted_ to do it. Whether he really wanted to remove the boy from Piotr's way. It wouldn't make sense; arrogant or not, Anton was clearly the stronger of the two and the weak always faded eventually. Yuri didn't hold out much hope of Piotr lasting much longer, even if he did manage to get rid of Anton.

Just as he caught the first glimpse of sunlight through his window – frustrated that he had gone another night without sleep – Yuri came to a decision. Boys like Anton were the ones who aimed for the main team, focused all their effort on getting there, and wouldn't stop until they sat above everyone else. Yuri wasn't overly concerned; assuming Anton was about the same age as Piotr he had probably missed his chance at taking the captain's role in the next World Championship. Valkov would have his sights set on someone younger, most likely, someone he could still control and mould precisely as he needed.

But even though Yuri knew that with almost complete certainty, just as he knew it was only a matter of time before his own name was scratched from the team roster, the thought of someone challenging his position still irritated him. He knew it was selfish, but he hadn't managed to climb so high in the Abbey by lying down and letting others walk over him.

And if he had gained _anything_ useful from his training regime, it could only be his refusal to back down from a challenge.

* * *

Comments? Criticism?


	12. Chapter 12

**Disclaimer:** Beyblade is copyright Takao Aoki. I own nothing and am simply using his characters for fun.

**Warnings:** Angst, violence.

**Note:** Yuri finally gets the chance to put his plan into action.

_LadyWulf_ – Wow! Thank you for your lovely reviews! (And for staying up to 4.30am to read!)

* * *

The West wing seemed further away than before, the twisting corridors, winding stairwells and the creeping damp that was starting to seep through into Yuri's skin did nothing to ease his growing apprehension. If Valkov suspected him _already_, then his chances of being able to get what Kai needed were shrinking with every second. And he hadn't even started yet.

Aside from the small diversion he'd taken to _that_ room on the floor above his, the one every boy feared to visit and rightly so – he had yet to decide exactly what Piotr owed him for his trouble – he'd spent the past few days absorbed by his thoughts, analysing and over-analysing until everything had clicked neatly into place. All he needed now was an opportunity, and Ivan was the perfect distraction.

Somehow he'd become disorientated, forgot where he was walking, realising only when he opened a door that he thought led to the room Ivan worked in and himself staring at old, dusty science equipment. A medical bed and outdated scanners, trays of test tubes, dulled scalpels and hypodermic needles that made Yuri's veins twitch under his skin. Breath caught in his throat and he had to forcefully block out the memories of the last time he had become some unstable Doctor's medical experiment.

"You lost?" A voice called out behind him, and Yuri twirled around in the doorway to face only air. He looked down and Ivan stared back up at him skeptically.

Yuri spared a final bitter glance at the science room and backed out, pulling the door shut behind him. "Just having a look around."

"Well you don't want to look in _there_." Ivan shuddered but got over it quickly. "Here – take these would you?" He nodded down at the stack of papers balanced precariously on the large box he was holding, and as Yuri leaned forwards to take the papers the boy shoved the entire box into his unsuspecting hands.

The box was heavy and pulled on Yuri's shoulders, leaving him wondering how Ivan had managed to get down the stairs with it in the first place. Metal clanked against metal as he walked, silently following Ivan, though Yuri didn't see what was inside until Ivan instructed him to drop it onto a table. He stole a quick look around the room – small, two long tables and a wall of shelving units – until Ivan kicked a footstool over and stood up on it so that he could take the paper, finally giving Yuri the opportunity to glance into the box..

It was full of broken blade parts, some in a better condition than others, and Yuri could only guess at what Ivan intended to do with them as the parts were clearly beyond repair. "Where did you get all this from?"

"Training centre. I clear up after bladers like you destroy everything." Ivan was already at another table, spreading out the papers and unfolding them, clicking his tongue and rearranging until he was satisfied. Curious, Yuri crossed the room and stared over Ivan's shoulder.

Notes and sketches dotted the pages, all annotating technical diagrams of Boris' beyblade. Ivan jerked his thumb over at the box. "That lot's from Boris earlier today. Something's wrong though. They've put together a whole new base for Falborg; gives higher speed, but it's thrown his accuracy completely out. Said I'd have a look at it." He shrugged, as if volunteering to work out the kinks in Valkov's latest design ideas was something he did all the time.

"I'm surprised they actually consider letting you help." Yuri quipped, not meaning to sound as condescending as he had done.

Ivan took no offence and just smirked, catching Yuri's attention with the mischievous glint in his eye. "Oh, it gets better."

The boy pulled a dented laptop from a metal trolley under the table and set it up on top of the drawings, flipping the lid and whistling to himself as the monitor flickered to life. He skipped through half a dozen security screens with ease, fingers flying over the keyboard, and Yuri would fully admit he was thoroughly stunned when Ivan made a few quick clicks to bring Boris' file up on screen.

"Are you allowed into that?" Yuri's voice came out as more of an indignant squawk, leaning just that little bit closer to see just how much information Ivan was able to access. Nearly everything, it seemed – Boris' personal details, medical notes, weekly schedule, performance results – everything that related to his training, but not _quite_ everything Kai needed.

"Sure am. You _jealous_, captain?" Ivan snickered, his words clearly intended as a jab at how little Yuri was trusted in comparison, but Yuri couldn't tear his eyes away from the vast amount of data on the screen. And if Ivan could access Boris' file with so little effort… Yuri wanted to know what _else_ the boy could do.

Yuri pulled back, took a breath, and smiled like the devil. "No, I'm not jealous. But it's certainly _interesting_."

The boy stared at him for a second longer than necessary, something sly and calculating swirling in his eyes before he turned back to his laptop, giving Yuri the impression that in some respects, he and Ivan were not all that dissimilar.

Ivan talked as he worked, something Yuri guessed he did in order to concentrate, and he explained his theories as Yuri moved back and forth between Ivan and the box to fetch broken parts he requested. Yuri realised he could save himself a lot of trouble and eventually dumped the box at Ivan's feet, much to the boy's amusement. He watched from Ivan's shoulder as the laptop replayed snippets of recent video footage from Boris' training, clicking into slow-motion as Falborg clumsily clawed his way through blade after blade.

Ivan huffed irritably, scratched his nose, scribbling notes onto the corner of one of the pages with his left hand and constantly rewinding with his right. "I don't get it…" He started, shifting closer to the screen and squinting at the video, clicking back and forth between the recording and Boris' statistics. "If I didn't know better, I'd say it was _Boris_ who wasn't controlling Falborg properly. Nothing to do with the blade at all."

"I'm not surprised." Yuri commented quietly, eyes glued to the glimpses of Boris' rigid form. He didn't realise he'd actually said the words aloud until he spotted the confused look on the boy's face. "Just look at him, he seems far too subdued. He's driven by anger, something he's clearly lacking in that session."

"You're saying Falborg's power is driven by _anger_?" Ivan considered his words, cocking his head to the side. "Makes sense, I guess."

Yuri's face scrunched up as he tried to reword his theory. "Boris just doesn't seem to be focused on anything there, almost as if he's-"

"Bored?" Ivan offered instantly, shrugging at Yuri's lack of response. "Don't blame him, battling those launchers gets annoying. Would challenge him myself if I didn't think I'd get punched in the face just for asking."

Yuri allowed himself to chuckle, that sounded more like the Boris he knew, not the slightly blurry figure on the screen. Ivan pulled up a series of statistics for Boris' beyblade and started to fiddle with the numbers, scrolling up and down to see how his increases and decreases affected everything else. Yuri watched with careful interest, not only could Ivan _view_ the files, but he could _edit_ them as well, potentially filling in a missing segment in his plans.

"Can you change anything else?" He asked, forcing only his curiosity to lace his voice. "Training results, for example?"

The slyness returned for just a split second before it vanished again from Ivan's face. "Depends. Why?" He asked simply.

Yuri heaved a sigh, leaning onto the table and dropping his head into his hand. "Valkov isn't impressed with my results." He began, spinning lies as easily as if he'd been born doing it. "If my previous results were to somehow, say, mysteriously drop… He'll think I've made a great improvement in my next session."

A manic grin spread across Ivan's lips, showing teeth. "You're a real sneaky bastard deep down, aren't you?"

Yuri smirked and quirked an eyebrow, playing along for the moment until he had seen Ivan at work.

"Well," Ivan banged out Yuri's name on the keyboard and his file bounced onto the screen a second later. "Just how much better did you want to be?"

"Nothing too obvious." Yuri decided, remembering Sergei's earlier warning. "Just enough to get him off my back."

Ivan nodded slowly and frowned at his laptop for a long, tense moment. He logged out of the entire system and shut the computer down, and Yuri watched, confused, as the boy dug around in the bottom of a battered filing cabinet. He returned with a long cable and a small rectangular device, both of which he slotted into his laptop, plugging the other end of the cable into an outlet on the wall.

When he logged back in, it took him twice as long and he almost had fight his way through the security. The screen that followed flickered in and out of focus, and Yuri spotted a tiny loading bar crawling along the bottom of the screen.

"What are you doing?" He asked, curiosity getting the better of him.

"I'm not technically allowed to change things like results." Ivan said, very much stating the obvious. He pointed at the device he'd plugged in, a light flashed at the end of it. "If they notice someone's fixed them, _that_ means they won't know it was me."

A whizz with engineering and a technical genius to boot, apparently, Yuri wished he had bothered to search Ivan out years ago. Between them they agreed just how far to drop Yuri's results by for his last three sessions – he knew his own capabilities better than Ivan did after all – and once the boy had confirmed and saved his amendments, overwriting the previous copy on the Abbey's computer system, Yuri decided to up his game. Find out just how far he could convince the boy to go.

"Ivan," Yuri murmured, bracing both hands on the edge of the table. "What would you say if I told you there was a chance I could get us all out of here?"

Ivan's gaze immediately shot across to him and the triumph of managing to change Yuri's file faded from his face. He seemed torn between confusion and laughter, probably thinking it was just a joke. "You kidding?" He asked, poorly concealed disbelief swirling in his eyes. Ivan smirked when he saw no hint of humour in Yuri's cautious expression. "You mean; out for good, right?"

Yuri nodded once. "For good."

Ivan snorted, shook his head and laughed. "I'd say you were insane for even trying."

Yuri rolled his eyes, suddenly irritated by Ivan's childish demeanour. "I'm being completely serious."

"I should hope so. Dangerous thing to say unless you mean it."

A fleeting glimmer in Yuri's mind warned him that Sergei might not have been the only boy who'd been instructed to keep an eye on him. Ivan's words could easily have held a disguised threat, there was always the possibility that he would run off to Valkov and relay Yuri's reckless comment. Then again, Ivan seemed to play the manipulation game just as much as he did himself.

"I have an idea, but I need your help." He wouldn't reveal the fact that Kai was the driving force behind his plan, the boy didn't need to know. "I can't tell you in detail-"

"Good. The less I know the better." Ivan replied, slamming down the lid of his laptop and turning around in his chair. "When do I start?"

Yuri stared between the manic look on Ivan's face to his extended hand and back again, wondering whether the boy had been dropped on his head as a baby. Surely Ivan understood the risks even without knowing the details, so for him to be so willing and excited to help was unexpected.

Still, Yuri shook the boy's hand – he wasn't stupid enough to turn him down.

* * *

I really, _really_ wish there had been more Ivan in the series…


	13. Chapter 13

**Disclaimer:** Beyblade is copyright Takao Aoki. I own nothing and am simply using his characters for fun.

**Warnings:** Angst, violence.

**Note:** Struggled so much with this chapter I almost couldn't bear to look at it anymore. At least it's finally up now!

_unknown reader_ – Thanks for stalking me! Glad you like this so much. To answer your question; yes, Alexsandr may be that same boy ;)

_BeybladeLover339_ – Thank you!

_LadyWulf_ – I don't even know what to say :') Thank you for posting on your Tumblr! Really glad you're enjoying this. Afraid I'm going to be keeping you in suspense a bit longer! :)

* * *

They had been planning for a little under a week, long nights spent hidden away, plotting and scheming down to the last minute detail. Ivan had butchered his own training results until they barely resembled anything close to the truth, and between them they had repeated their lines over and over until Yuri could hear Ivan's voice echoing in his ears even when he was alone. Constantly shielding their discussion from prying ears, always watching over their shoulders – not easy when you considered that Ivan shared a small room with three others – they wouldn't get a second chance, so they had to be perfect.

But even though they had practised and practised until they had almost gone insane with it all, Yuri still felt the nerves creeping in as they were escorted through the Abbey to Valkov's office.

"Hey, captain..." Ivan whispered, shifting the paper in his arms as they waited alone in the corridor for permission to enter. "I'm not risking everything on this, just so you know. If it gets bad, I'm out."

"Fine. Just don't mess up." Yuri couldn't help but be a little irritated by Ivan's new terms. He'd expected the boy to have a little more backbone, but then he remembered that at least Ivan could have some resemblance of a future at the Abbey as a designer or an engineer; he had something to lose. Yuri, on the other hand, had nothing. Once he'd outlived his usefulness, it was over.

Valkov had his back to them as they were ushered into the room, standing on the other side of the desk with his hands clasped behind him. Yuri noticed that he looked a lot more tense than usual, and wondered whether he had been in discussion with the Director yet again. A tiny part of him wanted to forget his entire plan, to turn around and retreat because that was easier, safer, but he squashed the thought in his mind. They only had one chance.

"This had better be important, Ivanov." Valkov's brutal voice grated on Yuri's ears, setting him on edge before he'd even managed to say a word.

"Yes sir." Yuri paused, swallowed, and forced himself to sound confident – but not arrogant – even though he hardly felt it. "As captain of the first team, I've been keeping an eye on Ivan's performance and have noticed that he's been falling short of the standards recently. I'd like to suggest changes to his training programme." There, he'd said it, and he hadn't faltered once.

A suffocating silence descended in the room, in which Valkov refused to even acknowledge he'd said anything and Yuri felt himself growing more nervous by the second. Ivan acted his part well, almost so well that Yuri started to believe it, keeping his head bowed and looking every bit the pitiful little failure he was supposed to be playing. Yuri knew that he was discretely glancing around the office, looking for anything and everything that might be of some use to them.

Eventually, when Yuri had nearly choked from his own built up anxiety, Valkov turned around to stare straight into him.

"Your title is just that, Ivanov. You are in no position to make such a suggestion." The man was mocking him, Yuri could see that clearly, and he took a deep breath to calm himself down.

"Yes sir." He murmured, keeping his eyes trained on the floor, knowing better than to look Valkov in the eye. "But perhaps if you could look over the paperwork…"

On cue, Ivan made his way forward, intent on handing over the stack of printed results he was carrying, but the way he tripped suddenly and all but threw himself onto the desk wasn't part of the script. Yuri thought he had honestly fallen over his own feet until Ivan started to deliberately fumble with the paperwork that had spilled from his hands.

Valkov barked Ivan's name and the boy shot upright, standing extremely rigid, head down, with his hands at his sides, paper floated to the floor. "Sorry sir." He murmured quietly.

"I did _not_ give you permission to speak." Valkov ground out, swiping his desk clean of Ivan's apparently offensive results. "Now leave, _both _of you."

Yuri frowned, this wasn't going as planned. "But sir, I-"

Valkov crossed the office in barely a second, shocking Yuri when the man appeared in front of his face. He didn't expect the backhand that caught him across the cheek and snapped his head to the side. "You will do as you are ordered, boy. You have been allowed freedom despite your pathetic conduct during the championship, but I will no longer accept your insolence. If you so much as _think_ when you have not been given explicit instruction to do so, you will be punished – your _friend_ will be punished. Am I understood?"

Freedom? He'd been allowed _freedom_? Ducking his head and staring hard at the carpet, Yuri gave a single nod. "Yes sir."

"And you," Valkov turned his cruel gaze to Ivan, still stood silently by the desk. "I will deal with your training programme later. You will start anew tomorrow, and I expect a considerable improvement on your performance within a week. Any less will not be accepted, understood?"

"Understood, sir." Ivan lifted his head just a fraction, enough to catch Yuri's eye and signal that he'd got what they came for regardless of their initial plan failing, and Yuri had to bite his tongue as they were marched out of the office.

In the corridor, Yuri swallowed the lump that had settled in his throat and kicked at the wall, hard. Oh how he hated that man, _loathed_ him even. Ivan set off towards the stairwell, crooking his finger and inviting Yuri to follow, the maniac grin that Yuri had become accustomed to seeing was starting to curl his lips.

They ended up outside, apparently Ivan was far too excited to walk all the way to his room – though Yuri was anything but – words rushing from his lips until Yuri snapped at him to calm down and talk normally.

"I have an idea." Ivan whispered as they rounded a corner, glancing around until he was satisfied they were far enough away to avoid being overheard. "It's a long-shot, but I think I know how to get rid of the guard outside his office."

"I'm listening."

"Well, the guards get slack after curfew." He caught Yuri's curious glance and brushed him off. "Don't ask how I know that, but they do. And it means that there's going to be less of them around if we go up late."

Sneaking around the Abbey after curfew had never featured highly on Yuri's to-do list, but he figured the boy at his side knew a lot more about the inner workings of the Abbey than he did. He nodded once to show his understanding and tried to shake off the twinge of anxiety simmering in his mind.

"I reckon if we time it well enough, we can get the guard away from his office. Make up something – some emergency or whatever – something he can't just ignore." Ivan had taken to making wild, arcing gestures between them, something Yuri found immensely irritating and he fought the urge to reach out and smack the boy's hands away. So much for not drawing attention.

"What are you thinking?"

Ivan scratched the back of his head and kicked at the ground as he thought. "It's got to be something bad. They never bother to break up fights after curfew, so it can't be that. It has to be something _serious_."

"Something fatal?" Usually Yuri's mind would already have kicked into overdrive, ideas twisting together until they produced something workable, but he felt sluggish and all he ended up with was an unwanted bout of nausea.

"Exactly." Ivan nodded excitedly, his lecherous grin working it's way onto his face. "If we can trick him into thinking there's someone _dying_, say, in the food hall, he'll have no choice but to go and check."

Yuri frowned, Valkov wasn't stupid, and neither were the guards he employed. "And if he doesn't? You know just as well as I do that Valkov isn't going to cry over one dead boy. We'll have to make it worse than that." He briefly considered the thought of asking for one of the younger boys to help them, to pretend to be the boy dying in the hall, but it involved too much trust, a risk they couldn't afford to take. Whatever they were able to offer as payment for their assistant to keep his mouth shut could easily be outmatched by someone just as eager to get him to talk.

"Worse?" Ivan repeated slowly, pursing his lips in thought as he stared up at the sky. A beat passed, and he suddenly slammed his fist into his palm. "I've got it! We say he was trying to escape! The guards _always_ jump when someone tries to escape."

"That could work…" The nausea broke out again, churning in his stomach, and Yuri tried to force it away, blaming it on the memories Ivan's words brought up.

"I'll lead the guard away, you break in. Easy." The boy's casual shrug did nothing to ease Yuri's anxiety. He really ought to reconsider the meaning of 'easy'; breaking into Valkov's office would be anything _but_. Ivan splayed his hands in front of him before they suddenly dropped to his sides again. "Though you'll have to find a way of moving the camera first."

"The camera?"

"There's one just outside the door, didn't you notice?" As if he had time to think about it whilst his nerves were going haywire in the corridor. No, he hadn't seen the camera, but he really should have known there would be one. "Don't worry, you'll be tall enough to reach I think."

"One thing, Ivan." Yuri paused, swallowing the vile taste that had started to creep up his throat and discreetly pressing his hand against his stomach. Ivan seemed too caught up in his apparently genius idea to notice anything was amiss, and he preferred to keep it that way. "What are you planning to do once you get to the hall? The guards aren't stupid, he'll know you tricked him."

"Just leave that to-" Ivan abruptly stopped talking, slipped his launcher from his back and crouched down on the ground. Yuri watched him quickly take it apart, didn't understand what he was doing until a gruff looking man in an Abbot's robe appeared from behind his back and he almost jumped.

He ducked his head to avoid the man's questioning gaze, instinctively catching a part Ivan threw up at him and pretending to look over it. He had no idea what he was holding, but a moment later the man gave a curt nod and moved on. Ivan breathed a sigh of relief.

"We should probably stand somewhere else." Ivan murmured quietly, clipping his launcher back together with practised ease. Yuri was happy enough staying where they were as the sickness had only been getting worse, but he followed after Ivan regardless, knew they couldn't risk another close-call.

They stopped by a portion of stone wall that jutted out from the main section of the Abbey and Yuri leaned heavily in the corner. He caught the concern in Ivan's eyes but forced himself to ignore it, distracting the boy with more questions. Ivan seemed to have their plan all worked out already, and Yuri found he couldn't quite focus well enough to suggest anything more himself. "What did you see in the office? Anything we could use?"

"Well, there was the work all over his desk-"

Yuri shook his head slowly; Valkov was obsessed with details and security. They wouldn't find anything useful on his desk, that was for sure. "He wouldn't keep anything important in plain sight."

"Right… In those drawers then; there were keys on his desk as well. I'm sure they must fit one of the drawers." Ivan gave a half-hearted shrug, one eyebrow raised in question as he waited for a response.

"Then that's where I'll look." Yuri closed his eyes, resting his head back against the wall as another wave of nausea sent tremors through his body and blurred his sight. His heart was pounding so hard in his chest he was surprised Ivan couldn't hear it. What was wrong with him? He'd never been ill before, the doctors made sure it would be virtually impossible.

"What are you planning to do with what you find?" Ivan glanced overagain, tucking his hands into his pockets. Yuri cracked open his eyes to watch him shift from one foot to the other, clearly uncomfortable. The concern on his face was noticeable, even if he did seem reluctant to act on it. "I mean, it'll look obvious if you walk around the Abbey with a pile of paperwork."

"I'll manage." It was all Yuri could say before his vision suddenly slanted diagonally and his knees buckled, wind streaming past his ears as he collapsed. He could see the ground rushing up, barely had a chance to shove his hands forward, but he never felt the impact.

Darkness surrounded him, followed by an intense cold that seeped through his skin. The nausea was still there, mingling with a burning, suffocating sense of fear. He forced himself to take a deep breath but the air never seemed to reach his lungs, clogging in his throat. He coughed harshly, trying to draw in oxygen at the same time, dread tightening around his chest.

He hit something face-first, jerking his body to life again, and just as quickly as he'd fallen, Yuri registered that he was lying outside on the ground.

"Captain?" The voice calling his name was muffled, seemed far away, as if someone had covered his ears and was shouting at him from the other side of the Abbey.

"Yuri!" Ivan. It was definitely Ivan. The boy's hands ran over his back and brushed his hair away from his face.

He drew a deep breath, flexed his tingling fingers briefly before raising himself up onto his elbows, arms trembling and slightly numb. His voice cracked as he tried to speak. "What… What happened?"

Panic gripped Ivan's voice as he fussed over Yuri, kneeling in front of him and pressing his fingers to Yuri's forehead. "How should I know? You just fell over and started shaking. It's like you had a seizure or something."

A seizure? No, that couldn't be right. He'd felt sick, that was all. "How long was I out for?"

"A few minutes, maybe. I almost went to get someone." The hand withdrew back to Ivan's lap, and Yuri missed it's warmth. The boy's next words reignited the twist of irritation in Yuri's mind; Ivan should have known better than to admit his fear so openly, after all. "You scared me a bit."

"I'm touched." Yuri ignored Ivan's outstretched arm and instead pushed himself upright to lean back against the wall again. If Ivan had noticed the annoyance in his tone then he was choosing to ignore it.

"We should go back in. Curfew's soon."

His vision swam as he stood, legs threatening to cave again. Yuri let himself slump back against the wall and slide to the ground, momentarily not caring about his display of weakness. His voice came out as nothing more than a quiet whisper. "I think I'll stay here for a minute."

The concern in Ivan's eyes came back full-force, half-crouching again to get a good look at Yuri's face. "You sure? Want me to go get Boris or someone?"

"_No_." The last thing he wanted was for anyone else to see him looking vulnerable. Ivan was bad enough, Boris would be unbearable. "I'll be fine. You should go."

"You know, maybe you should have a medical-"

"I'll be _fine_, Ivan." Anything to get Ivan away from him. He hadn't quite managed to sound as reassuring as he'd wanted to.

Ivan hesitated for a long moment, apparently torn between saving his own back to avoid being trapped outside after curfew, and his worry for Yuri's wellbeing. If there was one thing Yuri couldn't stand, it was someone else's pity. A dark scowl settled on his face and solved Ivan's dilemma for him; concerned or not, Ivan wasn't foolish enough to stand around where he wasn't wanted. "Well, if you say so…"

Yuri let his eyes fall closed with exhaustion as Ivan turned his back, but he could still distinctly feel the boy's eyes on him as his footsteps faded away.

When he opened his eyes again, he was slouched under the window in his room. His first thought was that he was dreaming, that he'd fallen asleep outside in the snow. But that didn't seem right; he didn't feel cold for a start, and the room looked as real as ever.

Boris was sprawled out on the bottom bunk, face buried in the pillow, sheets kicked down to his feet. Sighing, Yuri pushed himself up and crept to his friend, absently registering that the nausea and dizziness that had been plaguing him earlier had all but vanished, before laying the discarded sheets over the sleeping boy. Boris would undoubtedly kick them off again, but at least he couldn't accuse Yuri of not trying.

A soft cough from above his head made Yuri jump, jerking back in alarm as an arm was flung over the metal railing. Someone was in his bed, and it clearly wasn't Boris. For a split second he wondered whether it was himself lying there, whether he was having some surreal, out-of-body experience and watching himself sleep. It wouldn't have been the first time.

Raising himself on his toes, Yuri stole a glance at the figure on the top bunk, frowning when he caught a glimpse of dirty blonde hair and a face he instantly recognised. Danil, Boris' roommate.

Which surely meant he was in _Boris'_ room, not his own. But how? _Why_?

Yuri perched on the very edge of Boris' mattress and cast his mind back, recalling leaving Valkov's office, standing outside in the snow with Ivan and discussing their plan. He'd collapsed, which was bizarre in itself, and Ivan had reluctantly left him leaning against the wall whilst he gathered the energy to move.

And then nothing. Just a complete blank between then and now. It was almost as if whatever had happened in the final match against Takao had come back to haunt him.

How could he have managed to get from sitting outside – utterly worn out, breathless – to being in Boris' room on the second floor? Unless it had been the same as the finals, unless his body had somehow moved of its own accord and carried him through the Abbey without him even knowing.

A glimmer of fear settled in his mind as he considered the very real possibility that he'd been walking around without any idea he was doing so. It was dark outside, much darker than when Ivan had left him, so it was clear that a considerable amount of time had passed. Just what else had he done? Had anyone seen him? _Spoken_ to him? And if they had… What if he'd revealed his plan? His connection with Kai? God, what if-

"Yura?" Boris' whisper yanked him from his despairing tirade and he glanced over his shoulder to see the boy resting on his elbows, blinking at him wearily. "Didn't hear you come in…"

Of course not, Boris could sleep through anything if he was tired enough. The thought brought the tiniest of smiles to Yuri's lips that masked his lie. "I only just got here."

Boris nodded slowly, covering a yawn with the back of his hand before curling back under his sheets. He didn't say anything for a long while and Yuri thought he had fallen asleep until he spoke up again. "You just going to sit there?"

Yuri shook his head, moving from the bunk to hang his coat over Boris' own. He unhooked his belt, placing it quietly on the floor, careful not to wake Danil as the last thing he needed was to deal with the boy's wide-eyed stares. Danil had made it perfectly obvious from the moment he had moved in to Boris' room that he feared Yuri almost as much as he feared Boris' himself.

The very second he lay down on the mattress, Boris draped the sheets over him and latched his arm across Yuri's waist, pinning him back against his chest.

Yuri blinked down at Boris' arm, tracing thin scars with his eyes as he tried to take in just how close the boy was holding him. Boris had grasped his hand before, yes, pulled him close when Yuri needed comfort, but this… This was far too familiar, far too intimate. Promising something Yuri couldn't accept and silently asking for something he wasn't prepared to give. It didn't make any sense.

"Relax, you're shaking." Boris murmured quietly, as if he had read Yuri's mind. Yuri had to force down a shiver as warm breath tickled the back of his neck.

He held out his hand before him and, sure enough, it was trembling. How could he not have noticed? He clenched his hand twice, skin paling over his knuckles, though it did nothing to ease the tremors. Boris reached up and took Yuri's hand in his own before tightening his grip around Yuri's waist again.

But he wasn't nervous. He wasn't even particularly anxious anymore – Boris' strong, calming presence working its magic once again – yet he couldn't stop himself from shaking.

He felt... Unsure. A little restless maybe; as if there was something surrounding him that was not quite right but equally not quite _wrong _enough to make it into words. Something he couldn't quite grasp, no matter how far he extended his arm and stretched his fingers.

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Next few chapters are pretty much ready to go...


	14. Chapter 14

**Disclaimer:** Beyblade is copyright Takao Aoki. I own nothing and am simply using his characters for fun.

**Warnings:** Angst, violence, abuse.

**Note:** Ivan wants to get things rolling now, Yuri's less than convinced.

A quick thanks to everyone reading this so far – I know the 'escape from the Abbey' idea has been done a lot before, so I didn't think this fic would be so popular!

_unknown reader_ – You might be onto something there :)

_LadyWulf_ – Thanks again and again for your review! I've always had it in my head that Boris would be (over) protective of Yuri, even if Yuri doesn't understand it.

* * *

Yuri jumped as someone ploughed into his back, throwing out his arms to steady himself and knocking his bowl halfway across the table. He was still barely awake, not that he'd been able to sleep for long the night before, and he struggled to take in Ivan's mischievous, excited grin as it seemed out of place so early in the morning.

"Captain, listen!" Ivan perched cross-legged at his side, so close he may as well have been sat in Yuri's lap. His voice lowered to a minute whisper that probably drew more attention than speaking normally would have done. "I overheard one of the engineers talking about the Director-"

"Overheard?" Even though they were content to let Ivan help, Yuri knew the workers in the Abbey would never be reckless enough to talk about anything remotely important around the boy.

Ivan shrugged nonchalantly, a lazy smirk on his lips. "Okay, so I followed him, same thing." If he had the energy to do so, Yuri could have laughed. "Anyway, what's important is that the Director's called Valkov back again. He's leaving today."

He instantly knew what the boy was thinking. Today? No, it was far too soon, Yuri wasn't ready. There was more he wanted to check, little gaps in their plan he wanted to fill in, loopholes and escape routes he wanted to cover just in case things turned sour. Ivan seemed to notice his apprehension, urgency flickering in his eyes before it was forced away.

"Come on, it's as good a chance as any. We don't know when he'll go away again – what if it's not for months?" Hands gripped tightly onto Yuri's arm, tugging almost desperately at his sleeve. "You said yourself it's _vital_ you get in there."

Yuri sighed. Ivan was right; they had no idea when the chance to get into Valkov's office might come round again. He still felt exhausted, wasn't at his best and the last thing he needed was to collapse in the middle of searching for the files. Without knowing the cause – it seemed to be so much more than just lack of sleep – he had no sure way of preventing it from happening again. But he knew he could say that regardless of when they decided to go, whether it was today or not for another month. He was about to resign and give Ivan his approval when the boy beat him to it.

"Good. I'll meet you at curfew, you know where." He'd removed himself from Yuri's side and disappeared from the hall before Yuri even had a chance to agree.

Turning back to the abandoned breakfast he had no intention of finishing, Yuri folded his arms over the table again and stared out at the Abbey grounds. He calculated he had another ten minutes at least before his first session, long enough to repeat their plan in his mind for possibly the hundredth time; his schedule for the day was a gruelling mix of gym and circuits that would leave him little free time to think.

Ivan would draw the guard away with a well spun lie, leaving Yuri to break into the office. It made sense; he'd only let the boy know so much and hadn't really detailed what he needed to find, and Yuri was in no fit state to really be running around the Abbey with a guard on his heels. He'd have to be fast, neither of them in any doubt that the guard would pick up on Ivan's trick the second they neared the food hall, just had to grab what he needed and leave. A quick sprint to Ivan's workroom near the engineering block – Ivan reassured him the department emptied early – and he'd return to his own room just before dawn.

Easy. In theory, anyway.

But there was still one more thing to check – well, there were many, but if Ivan wanted to do this today then Yuri would have to put those aside – he glanced around to find the boy he had spotted on arrival and saw him making his way towards the queue at the other end of the hall.

Grabbing his own tray, Yuri swiftly caught up with him, ignoring the muffled protest of the boy he cut in front of. "Vasily."

"Yes?" Vasily didn't bother to turn around to look at him, keeping his voice low.

Yuri pressed himself a little closer to the older boy's back, waiting for the worker behind the hatch to take Vasily's empty tray and move off before talking again. "If wanted something-"

"Tomorrow morning." The reply was sharp, irate, and this time Vasily glanced over his shoulder with stern eyes. "Don't talk to me again, Yuri. Not here." He walked away without another word, leaving Yuri standing alone.

There was a quiet cough and Yuri looked down to see the worker trying to tug the tray from his white-knuckle grip. He released it, ignoring the pitiful look he received, too concerned by Vasily's apparent anger. Something wasn't right; Vasily was rarely flustered by anything and up to now had seemed, if anything, a little _too_ eager to help Yuri communicate with Kai.

Whatever it was that was setting Vasily on edge, Yuri didn't have much time left to think on it as the intercom blasted his name through the hall a second later.

Late in the evening, Yuri found himself hovering at the end of the corridor that led to Valkov's office, watching Ivan shake and ruffle his clothes, smacking his cheeks with the palms of his hands and almost forcing himself to hyperventilate. When he was satisfied with his dishevelled appearance, the boy shot him a grin before sprinting down the corridor.

Yuri hid, ducking into another doorway out of sight of the uniformed man stationed outside the office. Ivan skidded to a halt and hammered out words, so strained and panic-stricken that even Yuri – who had heard Ivan repeat the same line many times – struggled to understand what he was trying to say. He couldn't help but feel a little impressed.

The guard finally understood Ivan's lie; that there was a boy in the food hall who had collapsed and wasn't breathing, Ivan thought he had tried to escape but he must have got stuck in the snow because he was frozen cold – Yuri suddenly wondered _why_ they had chosen to place this imaginary emergency in the food hall and not somewhere much further away – and Ivan ran the opposite direction to where Yuri hid, the guard hot on his heels.

Silence seeped into the corridor and Yuri unfolded himself from his hiding place, sliding along the wall and keeping well out of sight from the stationary camera Ivan had noticed previously. He needed to move it somehow, the lens was directed straight at the door, but when Yuri stood underneath it and attempted to jump up and knock it off target, he came a good few inches short.

They'd clearly made a miscalculation; Ivan had assumed he'd be tall enough to reach and Yuri had stupidly believed him without checking. He kicked at the wall in frustration. If he couldn't shift the camera, then he couldn't get access to the office without being recognised, couldn't get the documents Kai needed. And if he couldn't get the documents… He jumped as Wolborg's usually subtle presence burst to life in a flash of colour in his mind, almost as if she were trying to tell him what to do.

Yuri unclipped his launcher and locked his blade into place without even thinking, only realising how foolish his idea was when he was aiming his blade upwards at the base of the camera. He wanted to knock it askew, not _destroy _it. Again, Wolborg flared, and a soft crackle echoed through the corridor as his blade slowly became coated in ice; a buffer to protect the camera unit from the sharp bite of his attack-ring. Yuri silently thanked his companion and she flickered in understanding.

He pulled on the ripcord with barely a fraction of the power he normally would – Wolborg almost launched herself – and his blade jumped the short distance to the camera, tapping it upwards so that it aimed at the corner where the wall met the ceiling, leaving the door unprotected. Yuri rushed in, crouching to collect Wolborg as he did so.

The room was almost dark, lit only by the sliver of moonlight from the window and the light spilling in from the corridor. Ivan had told him about the paperwork he'd noticed on Valkov's desk, but between them they had decided that the obsessive man was unlikely to keep anything of importance in plain sight. No, what they needed was more likely to be locked away, and Yuri cast his eye around the various filing cabinets and draws that lined the office. There was a small wooden tray on the desk that Ivan had said he'd seen a set of keys in and thankfully they were still there.

Yuri grabbed the keyring and immediately set about trying to get into each and every cabinet, hoping to find one that contained something useful to them, something damaging to Biovolt. He only had a limited amount of time before he knew the guard would return. There was no boy dying in the food hall, and there were only so many ways Ivan could lead the guard around the Abbey, only so many lies he could tell before the guard realised he'd been tricked.

Finally, after he'd fumbled clumsily with the keys more than once, Yuri managed to open one of the cabinets. It was full of thick files, bound in beige card, all organised by name. He searched, banging his way through the drawers until he found himself, yanking the file out and spilling the contents onto the floor. He was utterly shocked by what he'd found.

Everything that had ever happened to him over the last ten years was splayed before his eyes in plain black and white. Literally _everything_.

He wasn't sure whether to feel lucky or disgusted.

He picked through the file with shaking fingers, eyes quickly scanning printouts and scribbled notes, looking for anything that might be of use to Kai and forcing himself not to be affected by what he was reading. Valkov had even recorded the first time he set eyes on Yuri; a cold day in Saint Petersburg, watching two eager young boys dart across Palace Square. Valkov had described every aspect of him in the most minute detail, and it made Yuri feel physically sick to know that the man had been scrutinising him so intimately without his knowledge. Apparently Valkov had made his mind up about bringing him to the Abbey before Yuri had even known the place existed.

A thin sheet of paper slid from the file, and Yuri cautiously collected it from the floor. His birth certificate, something he had never seen before in his life, and it wasn't a copy either. It didn't make sense; he'd made the choice himself to join Biovolt, his mother had already left by that point and not once since making the decision to come to Moscow had Yuri ever seen his father. How Valkov had managed to get hold of his birth certificate, a document that as far as Yuri was concerned should still have been in his parent's possession, he wasn't sure.

The file held details on his medical history, every appointment he'd had with the Abbey's doctors, every _second_ of his training recorded in intense detail, even down to the meals he'd eaten and the rest time he'd been allowed. Every punishment he'd ever endured and every resulting injury, now _that _was something Kai could use. But it wasn't enough, Yuri wanted to find more. He'd been the favourite – able to get away with things the other boys would have been disciplined for – he needed to find someone with a worse record than his. A familiar face crossed his mind, and he delved back into the filing cabinet intent on finding a file he _knew_ would be there.

He wasn't surprised to see it was twice the size of his own. Yuri forced himself to take a deep breath before daring to pull back the band holding the papers together. He should have skipped straight to the records of Boris' punishments, something Kai would be able to use as proof that Biovolt cared nothing for the injuries they caused, but he just couldn't help himself, settling back on his heels as he skimmed page after page of the training Boris' refused to talk about.

Yuri had expected it to be bad, expected it to be harsh, but he certainly wasn't prepared for the cruelty the printed words and handwritten notes threw up at him. Boris had spent an entire year squashed under one particular Doctor's boot, subjected to the most horrendous onslaught that Yuri just couldn't even have imagined. He'd been forced through so much that Yuri had never heard about; beaten to cause pain and beaten again for expressing it, days and weeks locked in a pitch black room, isolated, hooked up to machines that Yuri didn't understand the purpose of, only to be beaten yet again, all to rip emotion from his mind.

Broken wrists, dislocated shoulder, countless sprains, a botched experiment that had left Boris blind in his left eye and a horrible, _detailed_ surgery to rectify it, a knife that cut far too deep far too often and heavy fists that rained upon already thick bruises, the damage was almost endless…

Yuri blinked at the words, stunned and barely able to take them in.

A wet drop hit the page he was staring down at and Yuri lifted his thumb to his cheek, shocked to find it was damp. The pages ran on, every injury Boris had sustained during only that one year, every assault that had caused the scars that littered his friend's skin. And suddenly…

Suddenly he didn't _want_ Kai to see this, he didn't – _couldn't_ – need to see the horrors Yuri had just read about. He wished he hadn't seen the file himself, felt so unbelievably guilty, remorse twisting inside him, suffocating. He'd been the one to convince Boris to join the Abbey with him, had pressurised him into it, all because he didn't want to be alone again. Until he'd come along, Boris had been happy enough living under market stalls with only himself to worry about.

The final entry for the year – a handwritten account from Valkov – crushed the air from Yuri's lungs so fast he nearly collapsed, one hand slamming against the floor to stop himself from falling whilst the other crumpled the paper. The reason Yuri had never seen this Doctor, the reason he had never even heard his name, was because he was dead.

Valkov had killed him to keep him silent.

Boris had _watched_ him do it.

And according to Valkov's own words, the boy didn't even bat an eyelid at the display.

The whole purpose of the training was to create a soldier who was completely and utterly devoid of anything except a singular desire to follow Valkov's orders without question; so when Valkov had told him to watch, Boris had done so. Valkov had been immensely pleased with the end result. Yuri wondered what had gone through his friend's mind. Whether _anything_ had gone through his mind.

No matter how wrong the reports were, Yuri knew deep down that Kai had to see them, he needed to know just how far Valkov's cruelty stretched, needed to know that Valkov had _killed_ another man for the sake of his own insane ambitions.

Yuri closed his eyes and took a deep breath, focusing his mind on Kai and Kai alone and forcing himself to block out everything he had just learnt because, right now, he didn't need to be distracted by the thoughts and emotions swirling under his skin.

He piled papers to his side; the way Valkov had eyed him up from the very beginning, the injuries he had sustained at the man's command, and the gruesome details of Boris' specialist training, everything else he slotted back into the files with trembling hands. He could stop his mind from thinking about it, but he couldn't stop the tremors wracking his body or the sickness that curled in his stomach.

Wolborg suddenly flared again in his mind, not for comfort but a warning, as seconds later Yuri heard heavy footsteps reverberating through the corridor. He froze, crouched on the ground halfway through returning Boris' file and swallowed the lump in his throat.

Valkov's office only had one exit.

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I think I can hear the Jaws theme playing…


	15. Chapter 15

**Disclaimer:** Beyblade is copyright Takao Aoki. I own nothing and am simply using his characters for fun.

**Warnings:** Angst, violence.

**Note:** When one door closes, another opens. The same thing goes for questions; when one is answered, you think of a dozen more.

_unknown reader_ – Sorry for the cliff-hanger! Hopefully you haven't died permanently? :S

_LadyWulf_ – Thanks again for your review(s)! :) Maybe this chapter is slightly less suspense-y?

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He couldn't escape.

Instantly flooded with panic, Yuri twisted on the floor and glanced around the office, desperate for a place to hide. Ivan must have run out of lies, the guard must have given in and returned to his post.

Yuri didn't have the time to wonder whether Ivan was alright.

His eyes flew to the foot well under the desk – the wood panel at the front would hide him if the guard decided to look into the room – and Yuri berated himself for leaving the office door open. The footsteps were moving closer, heavy boots pounding on the stone floor. He shoved the wad of paper in the front of his waistband and hastily tucked his shirt over it, kicking the draw back into the filing cabinet with a bang and diving for the desk.

The boots stopped in the corridor and Yuri swallowed thickly as the door creaked open further. He curled around his knees, pinning his body to the panel. Blood rushed in his ears and he bit down on his lip, forcing himself to take small, shallow, _silent_ breaths.

Footsteps moved onto the carpet, and in the harsh light coming from the corridor a shadow crept under the desk. Something sparked in the corner of his eye and Yuri glanced back over at the cabinet where a small square of paper lay discarded on the floor. The keys were still hanging from the lock.

Yuri could have cursed.

The guard moved over to collect the paper, and Yuri prayed that he couldn't hear his frantic heartbeat for Yuri certainly couldn't hear anything else. He saw the guard's gloved hand reach down, heard him mumble something as he eyed up the paper and Yuri hoped it wasn't anything important, hoped it was blank, hoped it definitely wasn't something that had his name on because that would be a complete giveaway that someone had been rooting through the files.

Yuri wanted to move, his legs were starting to cramp and the desk was digging uncomfortably into his shoulder blades. The guard straightened and walked the short distance to the desk, standing no more than a few inches from where Yuri hid – he would only have to glance down – and Yuri held his breath as he heard the paper join the others above his head.

Panic exploded into hysteria in his mind and he suddenly forgot how to breathe, closing his eyes and trying – _failing_ – to block out everything because if he gave himself away now, that was it. Everything he had planned with Ivan, everything he had agreed to do for Kai was ruined. Their chances of getting out were over.

Yuri had so much riding on this. They _all_ did.

Just as the pressure in his head had reached boiling point, Yuri watched the guard's boots step back and round the other side of the desk. _Breathe_. He still had to get out, and he'd have no way of doing so without being spotted if the guard returned to his position outside the door.

He wondered whether he would survive the fall from the window; the office was four floors up but perhaps the snow would soften his landing. A broken leg would be worth it. Hell, at this point, even if he risked breaking his own neck it would be worth it. Though if he did, the evidence Kai needed would still be with him, whoever found his body would most certainly find the papers and Kai would never catch sight of them.

But what other option did he have? Wait under the desk until _Valkov_ returned and found him cowering there? He struggled over which was worse; jumping to his death or suffering Valkov's wrath when he realised Yuri had betrayed him. When he discovered that Yuri had been planning for months to destroy him.

Valkov would inform the Director, and Kai's future would fall to pieces just as quickly as Valkov was sure to shatter every bone in Yuri's body, and Boris… Yuri dreaded to think of the fate that would befall his friend. Nobody would ever be any the wiser as to what really happened at the Abbey.

A sudden noise burst through the suffocating silence in Yuri's mind, it took a few seconds for him to recognise it as the shouting of young voices. Sprinting feet joined their shouts, ringing through the corridor and the office and shaking Yuri's entire body. The guard swore, the feet stormed passed the door, and the guard followed at speed.

Yuri wasn't completely sure what happened.

"Captain?" A familiar whisper echoed in the office, the room felt as if it had shrunk to just the tiny space under the desk where Yuri was tightly wound around himself. "We need to go – _now_!"

The intense urgency in Ivan's usually jovial voice snapped him from his panicked daze almost instantly, and a pained hiss escaped his lips as he carefully, oh so carefully, lifted his head to peer over the top of the desk. His body rebelled against the movement and sent white hot sparks shooting through his cramped muscles, but there was a chance it was a trap to call him out and he had to be sure.

Ivan hovered by the door, blood stained his lip and chin – no doubt thanks to the guard – but he was otherwise unscathed. He was fidgeting, glancing up and down the corridor and back into the office, nervously wringing his hands. He caught Yuri's eyes and immediately left, crooking his finger for Yuri to follow.

Yuri stood, threw himself in front of the filing cabinet and jerked the keys from the lock. He dropped the keyring into the little tray on the desk and glanced frantically at the paperwork spread over the top, desperately trying to work out what may have fallen out of the files. The last thing he needed was to leave evidence that someone had been there, and Valkov was so obsessed with detail that Yuri _knew_ he would notice the single piece of paper on his desk was out of place.

He spotted his name in amongst the mess, grabbed at the paper and shoved it up his sleeve, having little time to do anything else as Ivan reappeared in the doorway and snarled at him to move.

They ran down the corridor, Yuri following Ivan through twists and turns and down stairwells that he was barely familiar with, but as long as it took him further away from the office and the horrors it held, he didn't care. Ivan only stopped running when they got to a small door, barely noticeable in the dim lighting of the corridor, and all but pushed Yuri through it, flinging himself in after and slamming the door behind them.

The room was pitch black, and Yuri leaned forwards over his knees to attempt to catch his breath. His throat felt as dry as sand, air rasping from his lungs. Ivan moved around in front of him, Yuri heard the clang of metal on metal, the boy was obviously searching for something, and Yuri had to jerk his hand up to shield his eyes as the blinding light of a torch glared in his face.

"Sorry…" Ivan mumbled, pointing the torch at the floor and wiping the blood from his chin.

Yuri took a quick glance around the room, if it could be called that, it was smaller than his own on the third floor, three of the four walls covered with shelving units packed full with boxes and bottles, old machinery parts and what Yuri hoped wasn't surgical equipment.

"Where are we?" He asked, his voice sounding far too strained.

"Science storage. I wasn't really bothering to look, to be honest." It seemed Ivan had been just as panicked as he was. "Why were you there so long? I was waiting for you – good thing I came back."

"How long was I in there?" Yuri didn't think he'd been that long, until he remembered that he'd sat on the carpet and read an entire year's worth of Boris' file. He blocked out the memory of the pages before it could rise in his mind.

"Nearly an hour. We said 20 minutes – you nearly messed this whole thing up." Ivan looked angered, something that, in Yuri's eyes, just didn't sit right on his face. Ivan was a joker, manipulative and sly, sure, but Yuri had never imagined him harbouring fury to the extent his expression held now. "I came _so close_ to just leaving you there-"

"Then why didn't you?" Yuri hadn't meant to bite back, Ivan had probably saved his life by coming to look for him. Yuri had no doubt that the boys charging through the corridor had done so at Ivan's request. But the pressure of everything was tightening around his chest and Yuri couldn't help but be irritated by Ivan's words. He _knew_ how much was riding on their success, so for him to even _think _about abandoning Yuri was unforgivable.

Ivan scoffed, crossing his arms. "Because you seem to have a death wish. If I'd left you there any longer I'd be stuck in this place for the rest of my life, and I wouldn't mind getting out." His expression softened slightly, and he shrugged his shoulders as if he were embarrassed. "Besides, I thought we were a team or something?"

Yuri relaxed almost immediately, feeling the pressure drain away from him. He gave Ivan a small, apologetic smile. "We are. Thank you, Vanya." Ivan's mouth quirked up in his usual grin and, just like that, their disagreement was forgotten.

In the light of the torch, Yuri pulled the crumpled paper from his waistband and piled it on the floor, pushing Ivan back when he tried to glance at the words. He didn't want Ivan to read it; the boy's life had been relatively easy in comparison to what many of the others had suffered and Yuri didn't want to skew Ivan's views of the Abbey. He drew Kai's envelope from the tear in his coat and wedged the folded pages into it.

"I need to take this to someone." He said, keeping his next move vague as he'd promised not to give too much away lest Ivan be questioned about him. "What time is it?"

Ivan backed away from the door so he could leave first. "It was just on curfew earlier. Must be about 11, I'm guessing."

Yuri blinked, his eyes widening when he clocked just how late it was. Vasily made his deliveries early, before dawn, so he didn't get caught as guards started their morning rounds. He didn't have much time. Ivan barely had a chance to say goodbye as Yuri sped back up the stairs.

He skidded to a halt just outside Sergei and Vasily's door, pausing to catch his breath. Yuri raised his fist to knock and almost smacked it into Sergei's chest. The taller boy simply stared down at him, one eyebrow raised in a silent question.

"Is Vasily there?" He breathed, hoping that Sergei thought nothing odd of the dishevelled state he was surely in.

"I've not seen him." Sergei informed him blandly. Not the response he wanted to hear.

Stuck under Sergei's intense stare, Yuri felt fidgety, suddenly unsure of what the hell he was supposed to do now. Vasily had told him that if he wanted anything sent out he needed to get it to him tonight, but from the sound of it, he was too late. He swore quietly under his breath. The papers he carried were burning a hole in his side, and Sergei's gaze momentarily flicked to where Yuri's fingers tangled in the hem of his coat.

Sergei leaned against the door frame and cast a distinctly concerned look down the corridor. He took a deep breath before turning back to Yuri, the concern he had spotted was completely covered by sheer nothingness. "There's a boy on the fifth floor, room 514. His name's Viktor. You might be able to catch him if you go now."

Yuri faltered, mind awash with questions. Was he understanding his friend correctly – had Sergei known all along what was going on? Or did he just know what Vasily got up to when he wasn't training? Should he _tell _Sergei what was going on, despite Kai's clear warning? He'd already broken that rule by telling Boris, so what difference would it make?

He took one sideways step away, paused, felt as utterly stupid as he probably looked and just stared at the zipper on Sergei's jacket as he tried to make some sense of his mangled thoughts. Thankfully, Sergei's commanding voice made his next move crystal clear.

"_Go_, Yuri. Before I change my mind."

He nodded, whispered a thank you, and Sergei's voice echoed down the corridor after him. "I hope you know what you're doing!"

In truth? He really wasn't so sure anymore.

Like the West wing Ivan complimented so much, the floors above his own were somewhere Yuri rarely had a reason to visit; Boris was on the second floor, and Sergei was on the third with him. In fact, he couldn't even remember the last time he had set foot on the fifth, and he felt unwelcome before he'd even left the stairwell.

The stares and whispers that followed him from the cracks in open doorways were worse than those he usually got, but he brushed them off, remembering the envelope in his coat and pushing himself onward down the corridor. The boy that opened the door numbered 514 wasn't a 'boy' at all – if Sergei was a giant then the behemoth that glared down at him from the door was, well, Yuri couldn't think of anything large enough to properly describe him. Staring up at the taller boy's face couldn't have been too dissimilar to how Ivan felt when talking to him.

"I need to see Viktor?" Yuri asked, forcing confidence into his voice and keeping his head held high. Not that the fact that he was captain of the Abbey's first line team seemed to have much power behind it anymore, now he was on the same level as everyone else.

"Who is it?" A feeble sounding voice called out from somewhere further back in the room.

Yuri was about to open his mouth to give his name when the monster overrode him.

"The red-hair kid from third who Vasily mentioned." The monster's voice sounded like the growl of a bear. Yuri didn't know whether to feel flattered or fearful that Vasily had thought to bring him up in conversation.

There was movement from inside the room, and a moment later the monster shifted to the side to allow a scrawny boy's face – he looked no taller than Yuri's bicep – to squeeze into the doorway.

"You Sergei's friend?" The boy Yuri assumed to be Viktor asked, and Yuri nodded. He certainly didn't seem the part, looked barely able to stand on his own two feet let alone run a secret, under the radar delivery service, and if it wasn't for the fact that the boy had mentioned Sergei's name, Yuri would have assumed that his friend had got him mixed up with someone else.

"Hand it over then, quick. Then get out of here." A skinny hand extended from the darkness of the room, and Yuri instantly picked up on the scars of old wounds painted over the boy's skin, wondering absently what someone who seemed so young could have done to deserve them. Not that anyone in the Abbey deserved the punishments they received.

Yuri slipped the envelope from the tear in his coat and pressed it into Viktor's waiting palm. "How will I know if he receives it? It's important."

Viktor's eyes scanned the name on the envelope and he locked Yuri in a questioning stare that made him feel ridiculously small. "No guarantees." The boy muttered, disappearing back into the room with the letter.

Yuri made to go in after him, intent on explaining just _how_ important the envelope was as it had their entire future riding on it, but a heavy hand landed on his head, thick fingers tangling in his hair, and pushed him backwards into the hallway. The door slammed shut, leaving Yuri standing alone with a cold dread settling in his stomach.

What if Kai didn't get the information he needed in time? What happened then?

He dragged himself back to his room, legs feeling like lead and heart heavy with anxiety. He collapsed onto the bottom bunk, couldn't even bring himself to climb the ladder, and wrapped his coat tighter around his body. Something crinkled in his sleeve, and he recalled the sheet of paper he had shoved there as he was running from Valkov's office.

Ever so gently, he pulled it free and rolled onto his back so he could see it properly. His birth certificate, of all things, and Yuri had never felt so glad for _anything_ as he did for remembering to pick it up from the desk. If Valkov had returned to find it he would have noticed immediately that someone had been looking through Yuri's file, and as he already suspected Yuri was planning something, no doubt he would have been able to put the two together.

Something unusual caught Yuri's eye on the certificate, and he stood up to read it clearer under the moonlight from his window. He'd thought his eyes were deceiving him, but after a long minute of reading the same word over and over, realised that he wasn't making a mistake. There, right before his eyes, clearly written under his mother's name, was her nationality; not Russian like his father, no. His mother was from Finland.

Anger boiled, and Yuri leaned further back against the window in the hopes that the cold from the glass would cool the burning under his skin. He'd hated his mother ever since she disappeared – not for walking out on his father, Yuri may have been young at the time but he could still recall how he used to hurt her – but he hated her for leaving _him_ behind. For leaving him to suffer his father's alcoholic rage. Now, having seen that one little word curled on the page, curiosity was starting to creep up on him. In a way, he was only _half_ Russian, and he couldn't help but want to learn more about his mother, about her family, about where the other half of him came from.

He cast his mind back to the time before his mother had walked out on him and his father, but couldn't remember her once mentioning anything about Finland. Or her family, for that matter. He didn't even know his mother's own name. On his birth certificate, she was Marja Ivanova, not even a second name or patronymic, and his parents had been married so her last name was his father's. A dejected sigh escaped his lips, and Yuri tucked the certificate into the inside lining of his coat.

Perhaps, once he was out of the Abbey – _if_ he got out – Kai would be able to help him find out more about her. Yuri was sure there must have been more in his file in Valkov's office, details he hadn't had time to look over, maybe even details about his mother. All he needed was her maiden name, and he was sure he would be able to search for her somehow.

The tiniest glimmer of something hopeful flickered in his heart. Maybe, just maybe, if he managed to find her – if she even remembered him – he could have a family again.

* * *

Been throwing around my creative license a bit here to link in with the next fic in progress. What do you think?

Little side note for anyone interested: 'Chance' was partially inspired by the novel Takao Aoki wrote for Yuri's background. If you haven't read this, you can find it on his official site (linked on both Wikipedia and Beyblade Wikia). An English translation was posted to BeyUK Forum by Crisis.


	16. Chapter 16

**Disclaimer:** Beyblade is copyright Takao Aoki. I own nothing and am simply using his characters for fun.

**Warnings:** Angst, violence.

**Note:** Over 1600 views – thanks all!

Just to give an idea of timescales, in my little head-cannon the finals of the World Championships take place in mid-October, given that there's snow around Moscow in the series.

_miu_ – Thanks, glad you like this!

_some stuff_ – Thanks for your reviews! I'm glad you like Ivan. Initially he was added as an afterthought, but I actually enjoyed writing him too much to leave him out. He'll be back again soon ;)

_unknown reader_ – Thanks (there needs to be another word for 'thanks') for your review. So many questions! I've had this head-cannon in my mind for a long time now and am trying to write to that without moving too far away from the original story. Thankfully not _too_ much is mentioned about the Abbey in detail so I can get away with adding a few things. You should get your questions answered soon!

* * *

Someone knocked heavily on the door, interrupting Yuri's quiet, close-up appreciation of his pillow. He groaned, shoved his hair angrily away from his face and slid down to the ground, already preparing words in his mind to send whoever had dared to visit him fleeing.

He probably should have expected the boy standing on the other side, all things considered, but Yuri couldn't quite fight the stunned expression from his face as he wordlessly let Piotr into his room. He watched as Piotr silently settled on the edge of the bottom bunk with arms resting limply over his knees, waiting for the boy to speak or cry or _something_, because the wide-eyed look of disbelief he was wearing just didn't suit him at all.

After a long while, Yuri gave up waiting, figuring that Piotr wasn't going to offer anything and instead opting to return to forcing himself to sleep. He got one foot on the ladder when the tiniest of whispers escaped Piotr's lips.

"Anton's gone."

Yuri resisted the urge to roll his eyes, keeping his expression neutral and his voice flat. "I'm tired, Piotr."

The boy jumped as if he'd been electrocuted; face twisting in fear and despair. "But he's _gone_, Yuri!"

Yes, he'd gathered that much. Piotr fell back to the bunk and fisted his hands in his hair, words tumbling from his mouth, desperate and anguished, and Yuri was almost taken aback by just how miserable the boy was. Had he misunderstood something? Hadn't Piotr been asking Yuri what he needed to do in order to buy his freedom from Anton not too long ago?

He felt himself scowl at the thought that he may have wasted his time. Piotr caught the look, eyes flying so wide Yuri thought they might pop out of his skull.

Recognition suddenly flickered across the boy's face. "_You_-"

"Go to sleep. I'm not letting you stay if you're going to keep talking."

Piotr made a noise that sounded like a strangled animal, tangling his hands in his hair again and staring down at the floor with a whine. Yuri sighed impatiently, closing his eyes and willing away the anger bubbling in his gut. Exactly what was _wrong_ with this boy? Yuri could be indecisive himself, he knew that, but Piotr was on another level entirely.

"Listen to me." Yuri murmured, pleased that even though he was exhausted, he could still manage the dangerous tilt in his voice. He stood directly in front of Piotr, bracing one hand on the rail above him and hoisting the boy up slightly by his collar. The fear in Piotr's eyes was sickening. "Anton Vitaliev is gone, yes, but _I did nothing_. Do you understand?"

He had to shake Piotr before he responded, the boy managing only a small, curt nod. His fist tightened. "Good. Now, either you stay here and not say another word, or you _leave_."

Piotr swallowed thickly, heaved a staggering breath before he spoke. "I'll stay. Please."

Yuri pushed him backwards onto the mattress but said nothing more as he returned to his own bed. Piotr was far too easily frightened, something anyone would be able to take advantage of. No, the boy wouldn't last much longer in the Abbey at all. He closed his eyes, focusing on his own breathing and forcing every other little thing from his mind until all he was left with was a deep blackness.

* * *

A gust of freezing wind battered Yuri's body, tearing through his clothes and numbing his skin. He was running hard, sprinting across the snow, darting between gnarled and menacing trees. Brambles scratched at his legs and his lungs were on fire but he couldn't stop. He had no idea why he was running, no clue what he was running from, but instinct screamed at him to keep going, he knew he couldn't risk slowing down now.

Someone followed just behind him, the person's footsteps and their panting breaths echoing in Yuri's ears just as loud as his pounding heart. Daring a glance back, Yuri easily recognised Boris running with him. It was too dark to make out his friend's face, but he could clearly see the fresh lacerations littering his arms. Boris wasn't wearing his jacket or boots, feet leaving bloody smears in the snow.

They cleared the trees, staggering to a halt in a clearing that was eerily quiet and looked all too familiar. Yuri looked back at the Abbey looming above them, feeling blind panic rise in his gut at the invisible enemy they were running from. He turned, taking in what he could in the darkness; he couldn't see the iron wall, the barrier that kept them caged in the Abbey grounds. Had they made it out? Were they finally _free_?

Boris retched somewhere behind him and Yuri whirled around in alarm, seeing his friend hunched over his knees, violently coughing up blood. He tried to call out, opened his mouth but couldn't make a sound. The ground between them stretched and warped, hitting Yuri with sudden vertigo. Abruptly Boris stood upright, rigid, and stared straight at Yuri with bright eyes.

Except it wasn't his friend before him, something wasn't right. Thin lips curled into a sneer, and Yuri could have screamed if he were able as Boris writhed and contorted, morphing into someone else, tall and intimidating and causing a sharp, intense fear to flare in Yuri's mind.

Valkov was speaking, face smug and threatening, Yuri barely able to hear anything through the rush of blood in his ears. He swallowed, blinking away the sting of tears, and out of nowhere Valkov levelled a gun at him.

Yuri's mouth flew open in shock. He tried to beg, tried to plead as Valkov's finger twitched on the trigger, frustrated and horrified that he couldn't manage a single sound. He staggered back, tripped on nothing and fell to his knees in the snow, knew he was crying yet could do nothing to stop himself.

The gun didn't follow him down, aimed at something, someone, behind him and Yuri swallowed his fear for just long enough to look behind at who he hoped wasn't stood there.

Kai.

They'd been found out.

He had his back to them, oblivious to the threat in Valkov's hands and Yuri silently screamed at him to turn around, to move, to duck or do something, but Kai didn't hear him. A flash of light blinded Yuri, the sharp bang of the gun piercing his ears, and Kai buckled, slumping forwards into the snow.

Yuri tried to move, fingers clawing at the ground in a hopeless attempt to crawl over, but his entire body was frozen still, heavy as lead. His chest heaved as he sobbed, watching Kai bleed and unable to do anything to prevent it.

From the corner of his eye, he spotted Boris standing just beyond Kai, staring down at him with cold, hollow eyes. Yuri urged him to help, screamed at him, pleading and demanding that he do something – _anything_ – his words dripping with the terror swirling in his mind. But Boris did nothing, didn't even seem to hear him, just stood and stared, watching unblinkingly as Kai died at his feet.

Kai opened his eyes, blurry and glazed, and Yuri found himself caught, unable to look away. Kai was talking to him, a cracked, gurgling whisper that Yuri heard but couldn't understand. His body convulsed suddenly, freezing up for a long, tense moment before a final breath wheezed from his lips.

Yuri tried to fight the invisible pressure holding him down and managed to force himself onto his knees when the air flashed with blinding light again, followed a split-second later by the loud, echoing sound of the gun.

Wind whizzed by Yuri's ear as everything seemed to slow down. Yuri watched in horror as Boris suddenly became alert, jerking his head up, eyes wide in alarm. But he was too late, far too late. Blood bloomed from Boris chest, green eyes locking with Yuri for a second, swirling with surprise and confusion, before he crumpled.

When Yuri screamed, he barely recognised his own voice.

Something – a hand – clamped over his mouth to muffle the noise, something flying into his back and sending him sprawling to the floor, grabbing him tightly, smothering him as Yuri clenched his eyes shut and tried in vain to fight back against the invisible force. Valkov was gone, the trees had vanished, the Abbey was no longer looming over them.

All that lay in the snow were Yuri himself, the boy who had trusted his life to Yuri and his closest friend who he would do anything for.

Something urged him to open his eyes, a quiet whisper in the back of his mind, soft and soothing. The pressure around him became a person's arms, warm, comforting, holding him close as the bloodied snow around him shimmered and faded.

He was drifting, free-falling in the dark with the stranger holding him, unable to see who it was and unable to ask as he couldn't draw in a breath. Fear surged through him again, suffocating, choking on nothing, lack of oxygen leaving him light-headed and faint.

Suddenly something slammed hard against his back, pain sparking down his spine. It jerked his lungs back to life, and Yuri gulped in the air he'd been starved of. The whispers returned, more urgent now and insisting that he had to open his eyes, had to wake up, but he felt terrified to do so. The horror he'd just witnessed burned permanently on his mind.

_Wake up, Yuri_…

Blinking slowly, he stared up at the blurry form hovering over him, wanted to believe it was Boris – or even Kai – but he knew it would be neither, it couldn't be, because he'd just seen-

A bright flash of light and sharp bang made Yuri jump, leaping up and smashing his forehead on something above him, startling the stranger at his side. Panicking, he scrambled away, yelping as his desperate hands clawed at thin air and he fell backwards to the ground, slamming his head on the floor with a wince.

"Yuri!"

It wasn't Boris, it wasn't Kai, but it was still a voice Yuri recognised. He opened his eyes a fraction, blinking to clear his blurred vision, the ceiling of his room and the familiar sight of his bed swimming into view. A quick succession of flashes and bangs lit up his room, and Yuri lurched upright again, struggling to catch his breath.

"Yuri – it's alright, they're fireworks."

The light danced again over the figure crouched on the top bunk – not a stranger at all. Piotr watched him with obvious concern, and Yuri suddenly noticed that he was on the floor with his feet hooked around the bottom rungs of the ladder. Reality crashed into him head-on, and Yuri fell back to the floor with a groan, pressing his palms into his eyes.

A nightmare. A ridiculous, pathetic nightmare. One of the rare occasions he had actually managed to fall asleep, and he'd been betrayed by his own imagination, forced to suffer through a horrific ordeal all inside his own head. And to make it worse, Piotr – weak, pitiful, _worthless_ Piotr – had taken it upon himself to rescue him from his dreams.

His legs were lifted from the ladder, Piotr carefully setting his feet back on the ground. Yuri felt a brush of air at his side, looking up to see the other boy standing over him with his hand outstretched, intending to help him up.

Yuri ignored the offer, rolling away from Piotr and pushing himself up from the floor. He almost jumped again when light flooded his room but forced the reaction down, walking the short distance to the window to glare out into the night. Sure enough, fireworks lit up the sky over Red Square, illuminating the cathedral. Piotr had moved to stand next to him and Yuri could feel the worry radiating from the boy.

With a sigh, Yuri forced his hand through his damp hair, pulling it away from the light sweat that had gathered on his forehead and the back of his neck. He pressed his face against the cold glass, closing his eyes and willing himself to forget his nightmare.

Piotr shifted at his side. "Want to talk?"

"No." Yuri didn't even have to think about it. He never wanted to reveal to anyone what he had just witnessed, real or not. Some things were better left unsaid; even forgetting Kai, to reveal that he had dreamed about his closest friend being killed gave away just how much he truly cared, and if that knowledge fell into the wrong hands… No, it was bad enough that Valkov knew the truth, Yuri couldn't afford anybody else finding out such a weakness.

If anything, Piotr seemed a little put-off by Yuri's obvious rejection but he didn't push further. Yuri looked back out over Moscow, wondering whether Kai was out in Red Square and wishing he could join him. It may have been nearly a decade ago, but Yuri could still remember vividly a time when he would stand out in the cold in Saint Petersburg with his mother and father, watching fireworks above the city late into the night. Yet another thing he had sacrificed the moment he entered the Abbey.

"Yuri?" Piotr was looking at him and Yuri cautiously met his eyes, trying and failing miserably to keep the scowl from his face. Piotr didn't seem to mind as a smile lightly curled his lips. "Happy new year."

"Is it?"

The way his head had snapped around in surprise was amusing, apparently, and Piotr laughed quietly as he nodded. "You mean you don't know? It's January first."

"Right." Yuri realised slowly that he'd been so caught up in everything else that had happened since the World Championship that he'd forgotten what the date was. He cleared his throat, intent on hiding his shock – too late, not that it mattered, Piotr had already seen him at his worst – and the smile he forced onto his lips wasn't fair on the other boy at all. "Of course it is."

He didn't bother to return the boy's words. Maybe Ivan was right, maybe he should go for a medical after all.

* * *

Slightly filler-esque chapter (but still important!) before things start to pick up again.


End file.
